


The Veteran and the Veterinarian

by transpeterparker (robertmontauk)



Series: vet squared 'verse [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Bucky Barnes Has PTSD, Captain America Sam Wilson, Flashbacks, Flirting, Fluff, HA i didn't know that was a tag that's fantastic, M/M, No animals were harmed in the making of this fic, Non-Serum Steve Rogers/Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes | Shrinkyclinks, Non-graphic vomiting, Not Canon Compliant, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Shrinkyclinks Fest 2020, Trans Male Character, Trans Peter Parker, Veterinarian Steve Rogers, Vomiting, bucky Barnes has anxiety, but it's okay because he also has a therapist, i'm sorry you know i can't resist, it's so awkward these two numbskulls i love them so much, just ignore everything, like at all, oh right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-05-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23940103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robertmontauk/pseuds/transpeterparker
Summary: He Googles “pet doctor near me” because he can’t remember what the word for it is, but the sheer amount of results (more than a billion! That’s more results than people in the United States!) scares him out of that route.Bucky sighs, rubbing a face over his hand. “This is all your fault,” he says, pointing at Alpine. They’re lying on the arm of the couch again, the smug bastard. “You. You did this, asshole.”Alpine licks their paw.He’s going to have to text Sam, isn’t he?Goddamnit.
Relationships: Alpine the Cat & James "Bucky" Barnes, Alpine the Cat & Peter Parker, James "Bucky" Barnes & Peter Parker, James "Bucky" Barnes & Sam Wilson, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: vet squared 'verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726609
Comments: 54
Kudos: 275
Collections: Shrinkyclinks Fest 2020





	1. the cat finding

**Author's Note:**

> hello everybody! welcome to this monolith of a fic. i really was not expecting this to be this long, but here we are!!!
> 
> a HUGE thanks to the shrinkyclinks admins for being so accepting with my time funkiness (they gave me two extra weeks and i am STILL rushing on the last day) - you guys have been FANTASTIC and super helpful. love y'all <3
> 
> another huge round of applause to [aster](https://carpals.tumblr.com/), my bestest pal in the whole wide world and my beta for this fic!!! thank you for the endless cheerleading, gentle reminders, and genuine excited screaming. this one's out to you babe!!! you're the OG.
> 
> also thanks to my mom and aster for not getting mad at me when i bugged her about what it's like at the veterinarian's office. I've never been, obviously, so. any discrepancies are my fault.
> 
> hope y'all enjoy!!!
> 
> (13th chapter will be posted in a bit, yoinks)

[June 25th, 2020] 

The Asset’s curled up, knees to his chest and face buried in his thighs, equal parts scared for his life and horrified at the pile of garbage juice he’s sitting in. 

Some part of his brain knows that he’s in the middle of a city - Seattle, maybe, or London, or Paris, or - and that there’s no way he actually just heard a gunshot and somebody screaming in Arabic, but the rest of him is in a cave in the middle of Afghanistan with his arms shackled and his body screaming in agony. 

Something hits him - sharp, tiny, almost like - claws? - and it knocks the Asset out of his head. 

His first instinct is to lash out at whatever’s attacking, and he does, swiping at whatever it is with his metal hand. The thing - God, is that a fucking _cat?_ \- flies back when his hand makes contact, and he winces even before it lands - on its feet? 

(Some part of him knew that was going to happen, but that part is hidden under layers of PTSD, probably.) 

It runs forward again, aggressively butting its head against his right hand and digging its claws into his shin. His hand - flesh and bone, this time - twitches, but the sharp pain of the cat’s claws stops him from making contact again. 

“God, you’re a fucking weirdo, huh?” the Asset murmurs, flipping his hand over so the cat can sniff at his fingers. Immediately after, he looks at his hand suspiciously - how did he know to do that? - but before he can think too hard about it he feels something like sandpaper scraping itself against his hand. 

The cat is _licking_ his _finger._

“You got a death wish or something?” he asks. The cat doesn’t answer, thankfully, just licks one more time then tries its very best to climb into his lap. 

_Alright, then._

The Asset lets it - it’s not like he’s going to knock it off, is he? It looks almost too weak to make it (and the Asset feels a twinge of guilt at the thought), so he cradles its stomach in one hand as he lifts it into his lap. 

“Shit, are you skinny,” he says, gently feeling along its ribcage (which is far too apparent). “When was the last time you ate, kiddo?” This cat is fucking _skeletal._

(A part of the Asset flashes back to the cave, to the first time somebody outside saw him and the horror on his face, to the first time he saw himself in the mirror, to looking down and seeing his own rib cage. 

The Asset - Bucky, Bucky is his name, _shit_ \- shakes it away.) 

In lieu of a response, it stretches, digging its claws into his shirt as its ribcage becomes even more prominent. 

“Yeah, alright,” he says as if responding. “C’mon, let’s go.” He looks around to get his bearings - they’re in some sort of alleyway, by the looks of it - and takes a deep breath (ew, garbage). He gently pushes the cat off of his lap and stands, groaning as his knees pop. 

He starts walking in the direction of a street light and the cat follows, keeping pace with him as he figures out where they are. 

Oh - there’s the laundromat with the nice Asian lady. They’re only a couple of blocks away from his apartment. 

He makes a pit stop at the bodega. The cat starts yowling as soon as he tries to go in, though, so he turns back and narrows his eyes at it. “What’s wrong?” he asks, and it hops up on its hind legs and half-heartedly tries to climb his shin. 

He rolls his eyes but acquiesces, bending over and scooping the cat up to cradle it against his chest. As he pulls open the door, the cat shifts, climbing slowly (does it think he won’t notice?) until it’s curled around his neck like a purring scarf. 

He walks into the bodega and grabs a can of cat food, flashing a friendly smile to the guy behind the counter whose eyebrows seem almost permanently furrowed. He pays and waves as he leaves, and realizes half a block later that he’s never walked into that store with such ease before. 

He looks down at the cat, who jumped down as soon as they left the door, and shrugs. 

Maybe the cat’s magic. Who knows. 

“Y’know I can’t take you home,” he tells the cat, who doesn’t seem to acknowledge him. “I’d kill you, cat. No joke. I would probably accidentally murder you.” 

He’s not exaggerating, either - he’s had nine plants since he moved in (four cactuses (cacti? cactuses?), two “never die!” plants (Bucky calls bullshit), two succulents, and one orchid) and all of them have died, despite his best efforts. He feels like it’s giving up to throw them into the trash, so they’re just gathering dust in his windowsill. It feels like failure, honestly. 

The cat doesn’t stop walking, though, just turns its head a little and gives him a stink-eye. 

Since when can cats give the stink-eye? 

He gives up on the thought and keeps walking, resolutely ignoring the stares of passersby and one shout of “Mommy, look, it’s a cat!” 

When he reaches his stoop, he half-expects the cat to take one look at the building and run, but it just sits and waits patiently for him to unlatch the gate. 

He grabs the cat food from its plastic bag (ignoring Junior’s voice telling him that “plastic is what’s killing the world these days!”) and pulls the lid off, setting it down. It runs for the food, skidding to a stop in front of the can and nose-diving right into the stuff. 

He smiles softly at the little idiot. Yeah, he knows what that’s like. 

Tip-toeing past the cat, he walks to the door and digs his keys out from his pocket. He glances back once on his way - it’s still pretty into the food. Once he unlocks the door, though, something brushes against his leg almost immediately and he glances down to see a blur of black and grey zooming past him. 

“Goddamnit,” he mutters. He rolls his eyes and gives chase, running up three flights of stairs after the cat. 

He hits the third floor and stops, eyes darting around the room. At first glance, he doesn’t see it, so he’s about to climb up the stairs to the fourth floor when a _meow_ echoes around the floor. 

Great. 

It’s definitely on his floor, then. 

He walks into the little hallway past the first four apartments and - there it is, Jesus Christ, balanced carefully on _top_ of his _doorframe._

This cat is insane. How did it _find_ him? 

Actually - god, how did it get up there? That’s one hell of a jump, even for a cat. 

His mind jumps to robots and trackers, but he quickly dismisses the thought. 

_Nobody’s after you,_ he reminds himself. 

Probably - smell, or something. Magic, knowing his luck. 

He looks up at the cat and frowns at it, trying his best to look disapproving. “You can’t come in, cat,” he says sternly. 

He takes a moment to appreciate how absolutely ridiculous he probably seems, talking to a cat that definitely can’t understand him, but then the cat jumps down, landing on its feet (again! He’s not even sure why he’s still surprised) and stretching out lazily on his welcome mat. 

This asshole of a cat, good Lord. 

It looks up at him serenely, head tilted to its side in a mockery of curiosity, and Bucky wants to keep this cat, goddamnit. 

He leans forward and grabs the cat, lifting it by its armpits and holding it out in front of him. It doesn’t even fight - which is just a whole other level of weird - just hangs limply as he carts it down the four flights of stairs. 

He walks out of the building with it, sits on the stoop, and deposits it in his lap, keeping a hand on its back. “Alright,” he says, staring seriously at the cat, “listen up, kid.” (Kid? He is getting way too familiar with this fucking cat.) “I know you’re, like, a little ninja or something, but you do not want to come in with me, okay? Maybe you’ve imprinted on me or something because I gave you food, but I am a forgetful son of a bitch - sorry, Ma - and I’m always doing perimeter checks for no reason and at some point I would probably shoot you because I thought you were an intruder.” 

The cat licks its paw. 

“You’re not coming in this door with me.” The cat doesn’t even look up at him, so he pokes its paw. “Hey. Look at me. You understand? You’re not coming in that door.” 

The cat stops, just for a second, and looks up, staring him straight in the eyes. He holds contact, desperately wants to look away after maybe half a second and doesn’t. It blinks slowly and jumps out of his lap, circling around him once and then curling up by his foot on the stairs. 

“Well.” 

He’s going crazy, isn’t he? 

Next thing you know, a dog will show up and start barking in Morse code. 

“Glad we had this… talk,” he mutters, standing up. He dusts off his knees, looks one last time at the cat, resists the urge to pick it up and take it home, and walks upstairs. 

Six hours later, he jolts awake to the sound of desperate meowing from far too close. 

Relaxing from his just-woke-up-and-bolted-upright position, he tilts his head and looks up at the ceiling. 

_How is this my life?_

He looks at the lock - 3:24 AM - but before he can burrito himself back into bed, the meowing starts again. 

He sighs. 

Yeah, alright. 

He gets up and walks out to the living room, and - 

Yup. Of course. 

It’s sitting there, on his fire escape, howling like its life depends on it. 

“Oh my _God,”_ he mutters under his breath as he goes to let it in. “You just don’t know when to quit, huh?” 


	2. the coming out

[July 4, 2020] 

It’s been a week since the cat yowled it’s way into his life when somebody knocks on his door. 

It’s soft - one knock, a pause, then three more, like whoever it was realized that one knock wasn’t enough - and Bucky almost doesn’t want to respond. 

Sue him, he’s comfortable. He’s slouched on the couch, Goat on his lap, Great British Bake Off on the TV. 

What more could he want? 

“Mr. Barnes?” the door says hesitantly, and Bucky groans internally, because now that he knows who it is he can’t _not_ answer. 

“Coming!” he yells, and the noise startles Goat, who lifts its head up sharply and then jumps off, heading for the kitchen. 

He rolls his eyes at it and gets up too, walking to the door after a cursory glance in the mirror to make sure he looks age-appropriate. 

He has a shirt on, and - he looks down to make sure - pants, too. He’ll take it. 

“Hey, kid,” he says, smiling as he opens the door. “How’s it hangin’?” 

Peter Parker looks up at him with a bright grin, hands firmly attached to the straps of his book bag. “Hey, Mr. Barnes!” he says, lifting a hand to give him a small wave. “I’m alright. The guys next door are arguing again, though…” 

“Come on in,” Bucky says, filling in the details. 

May’s at the hospital, Ben’s at work, and Peter hates being home alone when the yelling starts up. Bucky can hear it from here, which doesn’t really mean much considering his ears, but he knows how it feels to have to listen to that kind of stuff. 

“Thanks so much, Mister -” Peter interrupts himself. ”- oh my _goodness_ who is _this?????”_

Bucky flinches at his shrill tone but doesn’t say anything. 

Peter drops into a sudden crouch and slowly reaches his hand out for Goat, who looks not nearly as concerned as it should be at a stranger trying to touch it. _Should’ve gotten an attack dog,_ Bucky thinks wistfully, and then remembers that he didn’t really “get” Goat, anyway. 

“Why _hello_ there,” Peter is murmuring to the cat, who’s squirming its way into Peter’s lap. “Bucky, when did you get a cat???” 

“Maybe a week ago?” Bucky sidesteps the love affair going on at his feet and grabs his TV remote, pausing GBBO and cutting off Paul’s scathing remarks. 

He’s going to have to rewind that. Damn. 

(See, this is why he doesn’t get up in the middle of an episode.) 

“Its name is Goat,” he tells Peter absentmindedly, trying to remember what the last thing he saw was. 

Was it Frances or Becah…? 

“GOAT?” 

Bucky’s head whips around to see Peter, hand still on Goat’s back, his mouth hanging wide open. 

“... yeah?” Bucky rubs at his ears, then at the back of his neck. 

“Why.” Peter’s mouth twitches. “Why is your cat’s name _Goat?”_

“Oh. Yeah, it’s always climbing on shit. I didn’t buy it or anything, it just kind of followed me home one night, y’know?” Bucky sits down on the couch as he talks, setting the remote on the table. 

He’ll figure out which baker he was on when he’s done. 

“What does that have to do with the name Goat?” Peter stands and crosses over to the couch. He drops his bookbag on the floor, sits down with a little huff, and leans forward to get Goat to come over to him again. 

“Well, it slipped in through the door and ran up four flights of stairs, and by the time I caught up to it, it was sitting on top of my doorframe. I still have no idea how it got up there - but after I took it back outside, I found it a couple hours later howling outside of my window on the fire escape. It’s like - goats are always climbing up stuff, you know? There was that - mineral meme, or whatever, a couple of years ago.” 

“I crave that mineral! Yeah, oh my god, I remember that, that was like forever ago!” 

Bucky hides a wince at Peter’s volume - maybe not so well, actually, because Peter glances up sharply and grimaces. “Sorry,” he says, much quieter now. “I forget sometimes. Too excitable.” 

He waves it off, turning in his seat to face the kid. “Don’t worry about it, Pete, happens to the best of us.” 

Peter’s grimace fades into a quiet smile. “Thanks, Mr. Barnes. So - jeez, that’s a story. You just let - wait, is Goat a boy or a girl?” 

Bucky shrugs. “No clue.” 

He isn’t really expecting much of a reaction, but Peter jolts like he’s been shocked. “You don’t - how do you not _know?_ Isn’t it, like -” He waves his hands awkwardly. “- kind of… there?” 

“I’ve never really checked,” Bucky replies, his face twisting awkwardly. 

Should he have? What if it has a sex-related problem? God, what if it’s a _girl?_ Do girl cats get periods? Oh God, is Bucky going to have little blood spots all over his fucking floor? It’s going to look like a murder is constantly taking place in this fucking house. Oh God, Jesus - 

“I can’t tell,” Peter says suddenly, and Bucky looks over to see him holding Goat up, looking directly at its stomach. 

“Oh my God,” Bucky mutters faintly, and Peter stares at him with a frown. 

“Can you see anything?” 

_How is this my life now?_

Bucky sighs and accepts his fate, scooting over to look at Goat’s stomach… area. That’s - a lot of fur, some nipples, and… no… penis? But - also… no vagina? 

“I just realized I have no idea what cat anatomy is supposed to look like,” Bucky whispers. Peter nods solemnly. 

“Me neither.” He sets Goat down gently and lets it scamper off of his lap. “Well, they-them then, I guess.” 

Bucky frowns, trying to think. They - them… 

“What?” 

Peter doesn’t look away from where he’s focused on Goat, but he does shift a little in Bucky’s direction. “What?” 

“What does that mean?” 

“What does what mean?” Peter answers, still a little distracted. 

Bucky rolls his eyes. “They-them. What’s that?” 

Now Peter’s paying attention - he turns to fully face Bucky, face frozen in something that looks like incredulous disbelief. “You don’t - oh. Well, it’s a pronoun. So, like, my pronouns are he-him, because if you were talking to Aunt May, you would say, like, ‘He came over to my house today,’ right?” 

“Oh…kay, sure,” Bucky says, nodding slowly. “So - my pronouns are… also he-him?” 

Peter grins, doing a little fist pump. “Yeah, exactly!” 

“But - they-them is also pronouns, sure -” 

“A set of pronouns.” 

“- a set, okay - but for… who? That’s just for a group of people, right? But Goat’s just one cat.” 

“Right, so - it’s a pretty common misconception that they-them pronouns can only be used for groups of people, but - for example, what would you do if you had to refer to someone and you didn’t know what their pronouns were?” 

Bucky thinks for a second. “Huh. Yeah - yeah, I guess I’d say they. Okay, yeah.” 

“Exactly. So they-them can be used for groups of people, or somebody whose pronouns you don’t know, or - um.” Peter, who had been getting steadily more excited as he spoke, suddenly deflated. “How - how much do you know, about. Transgender people?” 

Bucky gets the sense that his answer is important. 

“Not much, really. I, uh - I had a childhood friend? His name was Jack, we had playdates together every other week, and, uhm - he turned out to be a woman. Her name’s Charlotte now, she’s, uh. She’s pretty cool.” Peter’s eye twitches a little bit when Bucky says _Jack,_ but he’s still smiling when Bucky trails off. 

“Oh, cool!” he says, smiling wider. “So you already know some stuff, that’s great. Do you know about nonbinary people?” 

He squints, thinking. “I’ve… heard of them? But I don’t really know what that means.” 

“Okay.” Peter nods determinedly, then whispers to himself something like _really did not expect to be giving a crash course on gender today, but…_

_Didn’t expect to be getting one, kid,_ Bucky thinks, then laughs at himself. It’s obvious the kid thinks he needs the talk - who is he to say no? 

“So, in the most basic sense, nonbinary people are people who aren’t male or female.” 

“Like they’re somewhere in between?” 

Peter hesitates, making an _ehhh_ sort of humming noise. “Sort of? It can be - for some people, they feel like they’re in between male and female, like it’s a sliding scale. For other people, they don’t feel like they have any gender at all, or maybe they feel like they have a third gender - which is a thing in some Native American cultures, you should look that up, it’s fascinating - or maybe that their gender changes from day to day.” 

Bucky leans forward at that one. “Changes? What do you mean, changes? How would somebody change their gender?” 

“Well, it’s less that they change their gender - one thing that’s important to remember is that gender isn’t really a choice for transgender or nonbinary people, just like it isn’t for you. It’s more like… imagine you wake up, and you feel like a girl. Something like that, I think.” 

Bucky sits with that for a second, absorbing the information, and then he focuses on something Peter said and his eyes narrow. “Wait. You said _just like it isn’t for you._ Peter -” 

“Um.” Peter looks like a deer in headlights, and it would almost be adorable if he wasn’t so obviously terrified. 

“Peter.” Bucky turns to face him fully, reaching for Peter’s hands (they’re shaking, poor kid) and folding them in his own. “It’s - I just want you to know. And - and you don’t have to say it now if you don’t want to, but - just so you know, if you _are_ trans, I, um. I accept you okay? No judgment from my end. You’ll always be the kid with the red and blue bookbag to me, no matter what.” 

Peter’s eyes well up with tears, and - shit, Bucky just said something horribly wrong, didn’t he? 

Aunt May is going to fucking _kill him_ when she finds out, that woman is a force of nature, dear Lord Bucky is so dead - 

Peter leaps forward and crashes into him, wrapping gangly arms around his waist and shoving his cold nose (why is his nose so cold? This kid needs a scarf) into Bucky’s neck. “Thank you,” he says, voice a little snotty and muffled, and Bucky feels a little overwhelmed with how much he loves this kid. 

“Any time, kid,” he murmurs, maybe a little gruff, and holds still (are his hands in the right position? Is he gripping too tight? He has a metal hand, what if he crushes Peter’s kidney?) until Peter’s had his fill of soothing contact and draws back, eyes puffy but smile bright. 

“Um. Anyway,” Peter says, wiping his eyes with the sleeves of his sweater, “yeah. So, we don’t know Goat’s pronouns. So. They-them.” 

Bucky nods. "Sounds good to me," he says and moves back to his side of the couch. 

They sit in silence for a couple of seconds, Bucky wondering whether he should turn GBBO back on, and then Peter speaks up. “Goat is a horrible name for a cat, Mr. Barnes.” 

Bucky snorts before he can help it, but his weird noise startles a giggle out of Peter so he can’t be too mad. “What the hell do I name it - they -” 

“Them,” Peter interrupts, smiling patiently. 

“Them, right, what do I name them?” 

“Well - Alpine goats are the ones that climb walls, right?” 

Bucky raises one eyebrow pointedly. “Peter, I have absolutely no clue.” 

“I think that’s the species,” Peter says, cracking a smile. 

“Alright, then. Alpine,” Bucky confirms, and Goat - Alpine, now, he guesses - runs over and jumps into his lap. 

That’s that, then. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes: 
> 
> It's actually an ibex goat, I think, but Aster thought it was an alpine goat and so did I and then I was too lazy to change it. Animal species are not Peter's strong suit.


	3. the anxiety rising

[August 3, 2020] 

Bucky stabs the last alien and steps back, letting it fall off of his knife onto the ground. He grimaces at his knife - it’s all gunky, and he hates having to clean gunk off of his knife. 

“Clear,” he mutters, and a variety of _Clears_ whisper back at him through the comms. 

_“Who’s staying for clean-up?”_ Sam asks, and Bucky says “Not it” reflexively. 

He counts the voices absently as he picks his way through alien guts. Nat, Bruce ( _when did he de-Hulk?_ Bucky wonders, but doesn’t ask), Thor, Tony, and a delayed _“Not it! Shit, I said it last again, didn’t I?”_ from Hawkeye (Clint, now that the battle’s over). 

_“Pay up,”_ says Natasha, smirk audible in her voice. 

Tony and Sam start grumbling, but Bucky stays quiet - he’s not stupid enough to bet on Clint, or against Natasha. 

“Alright -” Bucky starts, but Sam cuts him off and Bucky heaves out a sigh instead. 

_“Tower in twenty? I’m feeling pizza tonight,”_ he says. 

Bucky rolls the thought around in his head, mouth twisting while he considers his knife. 

Is pizza worth the inevitable drainage of energy and subsequent twenty-hour coma? 

Nah. 

"I'm going home," Bucky responds. His voice is hoarse with disuse - he prefers to stay quiet during battles, thinks it’s easier to focus when he doesn’t have to worry about how he sounds. 

He wipes the gunk off of the knife and sticks it in his thigh holster, wincing at the squelch it makes as slides into place. 

_“Aww, c’mon Roboto, you can’t stay for a slice?”_ Bucky’s surprised - Tony sounds almost genuinely disappointed, and the others’ vague murmurs sound similar, too. 

He hums, stepping over a pile of goo. Where are they, anyway? 

“Sorry. Can’t.” God, that made him sound like an asshole, didn’t it? Shit. 

_“Okay. Maybe next time, зима?”_

“Sure,” he responds vaguely. Bucky reaches up and presses softly on his right ear, detaching the earpiece and pulling it out. He looks up, searching for a sign - 

_COLUMBUS AVE._

And - that’s Lincoln Center, a block down there, isn’t it? So he’s near the… red line, if he’s remembering right. 

Can’t hurt to check, he thinks with a mental shrug and starts walking. 

He makes it maybe half a block before Sam catches up to him. 

“Hey, Bucky, wait -” 

Bucky stops obligingly, turning to watch Sam run toward him, wings still flapping behind him. 

“Hey, Cap,” he says, acknowledging Sam with a nod of his head before continuing to walk. 

“Hey, Bucky - how are you feeling? Any injuries?” 

He opens his mouth automatically to say something along the lines of _“Nothing bad,”_ but he stops - Sam hates when he plays off his injuries, and somehow he can always tell when Bucky’s got something worse than what he’s letting on. 

He takes a moment, still walking through the debris (how do they make so much of a mess when they fight?), to assess his body. 

Slight ache in the back of his head - that’s from when he fell into the car; a twinge when he moves his right arm - that’s from when the goo stuck his shoulder to a bus pole; a cut across his left knees that stretches down his right shin - he has no idea how he got that one, but his shin is still bleeding sluggishly and his knee stings like a motherfucker. 

“My knee hurts, but otherwise it’s manageable,” he says instead. Sam looks at him suspiciously, eyes flicking up and down to try and see all of Bucky’s hidden injuries, but he must not see the dark red staining the fabric of Bucky’s uniform because he just nods slowly. 

“Okay. Are you sure you don’t want to come back to the Tower? We don’t really know the makeup of the goo stuff yet - Dr. Cho’s finding some chem people to work on that, I think - but it might be better to go through Tony’s decontamination showers.” 

Bucky waves him off, eyes searching the block until he sees the entrance to the subway. “I’ll be fine, they installed a decon shower in my apartment after I moved in.” 

“Oh - oh, okay.” Sam’s steps falter and Bucky stops after a second, looking back to see Sam staring at him with an unreadable expression. “We’ll, uh. We’ll see you around, then?” he asks, eyebrows raised and a tiny smile wavering on his face. 

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah, probably. Whenever the next battle is.” 

The smile drops for a second, but Sam props it back up almost before Bucky notices. “Ah. Okay, then. Bye, Bucky.” 

“See ya,” Bucky says, lifting a hand in a short wave. 

He keeps on walking, running over the conversation in his head as he checks his pocket for his Metrocard. 

(Say what you will about Tony Stark, but the prepaid SuperDuper Metrocards are a nice touch.) 

He didn’t act like too much of an asshole, did he? Normal length sentences, appropriate response times, eye contact; Bucky pulled out all of the stops for that conversation. 

He swipes his Metrocard and pushes through the turnstile, trying his best to avoid getting it dirty (well, dirtier) with whatever’s on his uniform. Some people are looking at him - mostly tourists with cameras around their necks and those “I Heart NY” fanny packs. 

The locals are too used to him by now, as the only Avenger (other than Clint, weirdly enough) who ever uses public transportation. One dude in a snapback sneers at him a little bit but he’s not worth the effort it’d take to terrify him, so Bucky doesn’t bother. Another kid - teenager, it looks like, with a rainbow see-through jacket and a shaved head - pulls out her (his? Their, Bucky thinks, remembering his conversation with Peter) phone and takes a picture of him. He looks straight at the camera with narrowed eyes, considering the consequences, then shrugs and raises his left hand in a peace sign. 

The kid doesn’t even look ashamed of what they’re doing, just grinning wide when they realize that Bucky’s caught them. He walks past them and down the platform, coming to a stop in front of a bench right as the 1 train arrives. 

He gets on, mentally calculating whether it’s faster to switch trains at Columbus Circle or Chambers Street when his phone buzzes. 

From **Peter Parker:** **  
** [6:43 PM] hi mr barnes!!!   
[6:43 PM] should i feed them dry food or will u do that when u get home???? 

Bucky reaches into his pocket and pulls out the thin glove Tony made him, pulling it onto his prosthetic. He has no idea how it works - only that it lets him use the touchscreen on his phone - but he tries not to ask too many questions when Tony gives him things. 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[6:44 PM] I’ll be home in half an hour 

From **Peter Parker:** **  
** [6:44 PM] okay!!!!   
[6:44 PM] uh   
[6:44 PM] so should i feed them? 

Bucky huffs out a laugh. 

From **Peter Parker:** **  
** [6:45 PM] No I’ll do it when I get home 

From **Peter Parker:** **  
** [6:45 PM] okay!! sounds good :) 

Bucky gets off when the conductor announces the next stop and walks across the platform, tucking his phone into his pocket and pulling it back out once he’s leaning against a pillar. 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[6:46 PM] How are they 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[6:48 PM] alpine seems fine!!!!!   
[6:48 PM] mostly 

Bucky’s frowning as he gets onto the train, and it only gets worse when he accidentally pushes up against somebody who gives him a dirty look. 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[6:48 PM] Mostly? 

He resists the urge to curl into a ball. It smells fucking _disgusting_ in here. 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[6:49 PM] there was throw up on the floor when i checked on them   
[6:49 PM] but they seem ok!!!!   
[6:49 PM] they bit my ankle so i figured it couldn’t be too bad 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[6:50 PM] :( 

Seriously, who the hell in this train car decided not to take a shower? 

Ever? 

It’s not him, Bucky confirms after discreetly smelling his armpit. The goo smells kind of like lavender. 

It’s actually a pretty good scent if he doesn’t think about why it’s on him. 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[6:50 PM] Did they eat their food 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[6:51 PM] yep!!!!   
[6:51 PM] actually it was all gone???   
[6:51 PM] so maybe they just ate too fast!!! 

Bucky sighs, looking out of the window at the flashing lights and trying to convince himself that Alpine is okay. 

It’s probably nothing. 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[6:51 PM] Did you clean the vomit 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[6:51 PM] uh 

Bucky waits for a second but nothing comes. He narrows his eyes at the phone, which petulantly refuses to light up with another text. 

It takes a couple minutes of Bucky staring (glaring, more like) at his phone while ignoring the asshole with the beanie that shoved his way onto the train, but eventually Peter responds. 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[6:56 PM] yes!!!!! 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[6:57 PM] You just did it, didn’t you 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[6:57 PM] …   
[6:57 PM] yes :( 

Bucky sighs to himself (again. What is with the sighing today?) and turns his phone back off without answering. 

He settles in against the door (and wow is it miraculous that he kept that spot) and tips his head back, closing his eyes and very deliberately not worrying about Alpine. 

Everything’s _fine._

“Hey, did you just fuckin’ touch me? Nah, man, what the fuck! I don’t give a shit if you were trying to get on, fuck outta here, man! Don’t fuckin’ touch me, man!” 

The sound of a fist against a cheek echoes through the train station. 

He looks down at his phone, desperately trying to ignore the fight everybody else is trying to see. 

Okay, so maybe not everything, but. Alpine’s fine. For sure. 


	4. the homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha! homecoming. get it? 'cause... peter? homecoming?
> 
> sorry.

Bucky pushes open his door to find Alpine laying on the arm of the couch, and… he probably should’ve seen that one coming. 

He gets the sense that he could buy dozens of scratching posts and cat houses, and Alpine would still end up on that fucking couch. 

Alpine jumps down and walks over to him, curling around Bucky’s ankles while he tries to take off his boots. 

“Alpine, move,” he says, shooing the cat away with a little laugh. “I’m stinky, you weirdo. Calm down.” 

He finally gets his shoes off, but Alpine is still impatient about something, winding through his legs and making little chirping sounds every few seconds. 

“What is it?” Bucky asks the cat, who never responds. 

Why does he do that? 

Alpine runs over to their food station in the kitchen (which is just two bowls and a placemat) and cocks their head at him. 

Ah, right. That’s why. 

“Alright, you little bastard,” Bucky grumbles, smiling fondly as he crosses over to the food station. He pours the food, Alpine frozen in between his legs, then watches as the cat runs to his bowl and starts eating. 

Greedy boy. 

Bucky frowns, thinking about what Peter said. 

Alpine’s probably fine, but - 

Bucky reaches forward and picks Alpine up, ignoring the whine they let out at being detached from their food. 

Alpine doesn’t fight it, just sort of hanging there while Bucky examines him. He switches Alpine to one hand and pokes at them with the other. Alpine’s hind legs twitch but not much else happens, so Bucky nods, satisfied. Peter was right, he thinks - Alpine probably just ate too fast. 

“Greedy little baby,” he murmurs. Alpine runs back to the food after Bucky sets them down, only proving his point. 

He looks down at himself again, frowning at the flecks of dirt on his chest, and looks back. At least he took his boots off before they could track mud all over the floor. 

He walks back and opens the unassuming door that leads to the decontamination shower. It’s one hell of a thing - six giant showerheads, trained on one spot surrounded by plastic, and then another shower that looks more like what a normal shower looks like (although Bucky personally thinks it has too many buttons). 

Tony really doesn’t spare any expense. 

Bucky gets out of the shower and sees his phone light up with a notification. 

From **Peter Parker:** **  
** [7:26 PM] hey mr barnes!!! can i come down n see alpine????? 

Bucky snorts down at his phone. 

To **Peter Parker:** **  
** [7:28 PM] You saw him forty minutes ago 

From **Peter Parker:** **  
** [7:28 PM] …   
[7:28 PM] yes 

To **Peter Parker:** **  
** [7:29 PM] Door’s open 

He walks out of the decontamination shower, wrapped in two towels (one around his hair, because otherwise it drips all over his shoulders, and one around his waist, because he’s not a nudist), and unlocks the door. 

From **Peter Parker:** ****  
[7:29 PM] thank you!!!!!!!!!  
[7:29 PM] ill be down in 5!!!!!!!!!!! 

Bucky hears the door creak open while he’s putting on his clothes in the bedroom, and smiles fondly at the cooing echoing from the living room. 

He pulls on fuzzy black socks and stands up, sees himself in the mirror and smiles softly. 

(Right after - 

Bucky still doesn’t know how to refer to it. 

When he first started therapy, Laura suggested he say something like “came back”, but some days he feels like he’s still there, sweat sticking to his back and sand under his tongue, so he doesn’t use that. 

Right after Afghanistan (that’s safe enough, he thinks), Bucky couldn’t wear soft clothes. He couldn’t do a lot of things, honestly - look in the mirror, take showers more than once a week, sleep in his bed, tie his own shoes… 

The clothes thing was one of the worst parts, though. Looking back, he thinks maybe part of it was that he felt like he didn’t deserve to wear them. Bucky had this period of time (as most trauma survivors do, probably) where he blamed himself for Afghanistan. Not, like, the whole war - but he thinks he somehow convinced himself that it was his fault that the team got captured, that Sammy died from blood loss, that it took almost a month for anyone to find them. 

It took a while to get over that. 

Nowadays, Bucky likes to take a moment every now and then to be proud of himself for how far he’s come. Laura says that’s called _level four self-validation._ Bucky doesn’t really remember what that means but he likes the term, so he keeps it in the back of his brain.) 

“You satisfied, Peter?” Bucky calls out, running a hand through his still-damp hair as he walks out of the bedroom. 

Peter’s sitting on the floor in front of the couch, a softly purring Alpine lazing contentedly on his lap as he strokes their fur. He looks up at Bucky when he walks up into the wrong, his hand freezing on Alpine’s back. Peter smiles when he sees him, hand resuming its path, but his eyes are narrowed and assessing. 

“Can you get me a glass of water?” Peter asks, smiling innocently. Bucky rolls his eyes and waves him off. 

“Yeah, alright,” he says, walking past the pair into the kitchen. 

It takes a couple of seconds, Bucky leaning into the fridge for a root beer and the pitcher of filtered water (that Peter forced him to buy, although he still doesn’t really understand why it’s so bad to drink straight from the faucet) and then the cabinet for two glasses. 

Shit, he didn’t even realize he was thirsty until Peter said something. Funny how that works. 

“You have a headache and your leg hurts, huh?” Peter asks sympathetically, and Bucky can’t help but frown at the glass he’s slowly filling. 

(It would be much faster to fill it from the tap, Bucky thinks a little petulantly.) 

“How’d you know that?” Bucky asks, taking a sip of water. 

“You have a furrow between your brows and you’re limping,” Peter calls from behind him, and Bucky snorts into his glass. 

When did he get that predictable? 

“Yeah, had a couple of scratches,” he replies, shrugging as he walks back to the living room. He passes Peter his glass and is rewarded with a bright grin. 

“Anything serious? Aunt May’s home right now, she could stitch you up if you needed.” 

Peter still looks totally innocent - his smile is easy, his eyes wide like normal, his hand sweeping light and soft across Alpine’s back - but suddenly Bucky is suspicious of that young face. 

“Hmmm. I thought Aunt May had a shift today?” 

Peter’s smile freezes, but he quickly recovers. “Oh - um - yeah! She did! Originally. Yeah. But, uh, she offered to switch with - with her coworker! Who, uhm, had an event he wanted to go to, next, uh. Next week. So she switched shifts. Yeah.” 

Bucky snorts before he can help it, leaning back in his seat with an indulgent smile. “You’re a terrible liar, kid.” 

He pouts, deflating in response. “Shut up. Oh! That reminds me. May wanted to know if you wanted to come over for dinner tonight…?” 

Bucky hums. He takes a long sip of his root beer, reaching over to the side table to deposit the bottle and his water glass once he’s done. “Nah. I think I’m going to stay in today, catch up on some paperwork, maybe. Tell her thanks for the offer, though, okay?” 

“You have her number,” Peter mutters, rolling his eyes mulishly. “And - why not? That’s what you said, like, the last _three_ times we’ve asked.” 

Bucky sighs, biting the inside of his cheek. “Listen, I just -” 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to hang out with us, you know,” Peter interrupts, not looking up at him. He’s stopped petting Alpine, trailing his fingers along the rim of his cup instead. “I get it. It’s fine. We’re, like, weird, and kind of boring, and definitely too nosy, and just, like, annoying, so don’t worry about offending us or -” 

“Peter.” 

Bucky rubs at his face with one hand, wondering what the hell to say now. God, this kid has self-esteem issues. 

“It’s not you guys, okay?” 

Peter snorts, shaking his head a little. “Yeah, okay.” 

“Hey. Seriously, come on.” Bucky nudges Peter’s knee with his feet, forcing him to look up. “You know I have - issues. I -” He sighs, tries to figure out how to word it. “Today was - rough. Not just because of the battle, or whatever, just - it's hard… to - be around so many people at once. I get, uh. Overloaded, sometimes.” 

Bucky feels himself start to get a little worked up - this isn’t coming out right, and he feels like he’s making it worse just by talking, or being alive, or existing, really - but then Alpine gets up from Peter’s lap and hops up to Bucky. They situate themself in his lap, pushing their face into Bucky’s hand, and somehow it’s much easier to breathe when he’s got his hand buried in their fur. 

He takes a deep breath and tries again. “It's not that you guys are… boring, or annoying, or whatever else you said, it’s just. I need to be by myself a lot. More than other people, I guess. So I can’t come over for dinner as much as I’d like to, you know? It’s too much.” 


	5. the transitioning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this title's a little misleading, i'll admit, but i couldn't resist.
> 
> also: i've never watched malcolm in the middle but aster assures me it's delightful, so here you go.

By the end of his impromptu speech, Bucky’s voice is so quiet he can barely hear himself speak. Peter’s hand is wrapped around his ankle, though, and he’s looking up at Bucky with a quiet smile and shining eyes. 

“Thanks for letting me know, Mister Barnes,” Peter murmurs. “I really appreciate it.” 

Bucky shrugs, a little uncomfortable. “Least I could do,” he says, his foot twitching slightly until Peter lets go of it. “Didn’t want you gettin’ weird ideas about yourself and your family up in that noggin of yours.” 

“Ha, thanks.” Peter twists behind him and reaches for his bookbag, dragging it to sit in front of him. He lets out a mournful little sound when Alpine jumps off of his lap, but continues anyway. “So, if you’re not going to come over, then May and Ben had some leftovers from last night that they wanted me to bring by -” 

“Oh my God, you little shit!” Bucky exclaims through his laughter, unable to hold it back. “You totally planned this, didn’t you? You and your folks are conspiring against me, holy hell.” 

Peter’s laughing too, pulling Tupperware containers out of his bag even as he tries to explain. “Listen - it’s not - no, we’re not conspiring, just - _oh my god, stop laughing_ \- listen! We get concerned, okay?” he says with a grin. “You’re always eating takeout and stuff, it’s not healthy. Besides, Aunt May really did make too much food last night -” 

“Aunt May can barely cook,” Bucky points out. 

“- okay, Uncle Ben and I made too much food last night, and we didn’t want it to go to waste! So we - I - figured you may as well take it. And I’m not taking no for an answer.” Peter’s still smiling, but he has his arms crossed over his chest and he really doesn’t look like he’s taking no for an answer. 

“Yeah, yeah, alright,” Bucky concedes, pointing at the stack of containers. “But you’re putting it in the fridge.” 

Peter jumps up, looking for all the world like that’s what he was expecting. “Got it!” 

He brings the containers into the kitchen while Bucky grabs the remote and turns on the TV, flipping until he finds something called _Malcolm in the Middle._ He shrugs. 

Can’t hurt. 

Peter’s rubbing at his chest when he comes back and sits on the couch. He pats his lap repeatedly, making a pouty sort of face when Alpine won’t come over, but Bucky’s mind is on the chest thing. 

How many times has Peter done that, and Bucky just hasn’t noticed? 

“Hey, Pete?” Bucky says before he can stop himself. Peter glances over from the TV, eyebrow raised questioningly. 

“Yeah?” 

“Why do you rub your chest like that?” Bucky asks, pointing to where Peter has started to rub it again, seemingly without paying attention. 

“Hmm?” Peter looks down, only then seeming to realize what he’d been doing. “Oh. It’s my binder - when I wear it all day my chest tends to get itchy.” 

Bucky frowns, turning to face Peter. “What’s a binder?” 

“It’s - like a compression shirt? You don’t know what that is either, do you.” 

“Ehh.” Bucky tilts his head back and forth. “Not enough.” 

“Okay. Basically a binder, like - smushes my chest down.” Peter, probably trying to demonstrate, presses a hand to his chest and - smushes. 

Bucky still doesn’t quite get it. 

Wait. 

_Oh._

“Like - like your _breasts?”_ he asks, maybe a little incredulously. Peter nods, looking a little like he’s trying to fight back a laugh. 

“Yeah,” he says, leaning back against the arm of his chair. “It’s to make it look like I have a chest, instead of two breasts.” 

“Huh. So… that you look more -” 

“- like a guy, yeah,” Peter finishes, reaching down to grab his cup. 

Bucky frowns, feeling a little disgruntled. “I was going to say more like _you,_ ‘cause you are a guy, but I guess that works too.” 

Peter doesn’t say anything, still looking down at his water, but when he does look up his eyes are a little misty. “Thanks, Mister Barnes. I, uh. I really appreciate that.” 

“Yeah.” 

God, Bucky can’t even imagine what it must be like for Peter. To go through life hating a part of your body that you can’t even control, having to put some weird sort of contraption on to hide it just so that you can feel normal… 

He looks at his prosthetic. 

Huh. 

Yeah, alright. He gets it a little bit. 

“How’d you know?” he asks, still looking at his arm. 

(He’s staring at it so intensely he misses the shocked look Peter shoots him.) 

“What, that I was trans?” 

“Yeah.” Bucky looks at Peter through the corner of his eye. 

“Uhh - I don’t really know, honestly. It’s sort of - I think I became sort of aware that there were certain things about my life that made me feel like shit, y’know? Especially once I really started hitting puberty - once I got my period, I was around 11, and I felt like my life was draining down a hole.” 

Bucky chuckles. “Ha, yeah, I remember feeling like that, too.” 

“You - you do?” There’s something off about the tone in Peter’s voice, but Bucky’s too lost in memories to really notice. 

“Yeah. I mean - I never asked, ‘cause it felt weird to at the time, but I would think every guy had those moments where he’d look down at his balls and wish they weren’t there.” 

“I -” There’s a pause for a moment, and Bucky looks up to see Peter staring at him with an unreadable expression on his face. “Huh. May- yeah. Yeah.” 

“Anyway. What were you saying?” 

“Oh - yeah, yeah. So - that, and I started getting really sad all of the time, and I would feel frustrated and mad and kind of - guilty, a little bit? Yeah - guilty whenever Aunt May or Uncle Ben called me their niece, or called me by my dead name -” 

“What’s a dead name?” Bucky asks, frowning slightly. “Sounds kinda goth.” 

Peter grins, laughing a little. “Yeah, a little. It’s my birth name, basically, but in the trans community people tend to say “dead name” - just one word, deadname - to signify it instead. ‘Cause for us - for trans people that choose a new name when they transition - it can feel like a rebirth, almost. Like you’re becoming someone new.” 

Bucky nods slowly, feeling a little like he should be grabbing one of his notebooks to copy this down in. “Okay. So - dead name, body issue stuff, pronoun issues. How did you figure it out, then?” 

Peter shrugs. “Google, mostly. I had a Tumblr, which helped - you would not believe how many trans people are on that site. Plus I had a friend at the time who was bi - not trans, but she knew some people that were, so I got to talk to them about it, which helped. And - this is gonna sound stupid -” 

“No it won’t,” Bucky chides gently. 

“- no, it won’t, you’re right - I kind of looked within, y’know? And once I knew what being trans meant, I sort of - I mean, I was 11, so it wasn’t nearly as poetic as I’m making it sound, but - I sat down, and I said to myself ‘are you a girl?’. And my body was like, ‘hell no’. So then I was like, ‘... are you a boy, then?’ And my body went - ‘shit, I guess so’. Which - that’s a gross misrepresentation of how it actually felt, but it’s the best I know how to describe it, so. Yeah.” 

Bucky hums, eyebrows furrowed. He looks down at himself, and the parts he can and can’t see. He’s got a vaguely big dick - not bad, evenly proportioned. Big thighs. Hairy legs. Nice face, when he can stand to look at it. His beard gets scraggly if he doesn’t take care of it. Long hair, but not too long, he doesn’t think. 

_Are you a guy?_ he asks himself, not really expecting an answer. His body doesn’t really respond (he’d be worried if it did), but he feels a sense of rightness as soon as he thinks about it. 

_Yeah, okay. I’m a guy._

He doesn’t even realize he’s closed his eyes until Peter touches his right arm with gentle fingers, startling him out of his thoughts. 

“Mister Barnes? Are you okay?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” he replies, opening his eyes fully and reaching out to grab Peter’s hand. 

He has a split second of hesitation - his hands feel kind of sweaty, are they too sweaty? What if Peter doesn’t actually like being touched but he’s been pretending to this whole time to make Bucky feel better? What if - but he pushes it aside because the look of concern on Peter’s face is too obvious for Bucky to ignore. 

“I just had to check,” Bucky confirms, squeezing once before letting go. 

Peter lets out a quick puff of air, looking less concerned but still kind of confused. “Check what?” 

“That I’m a guy,” Bucky says, knowing it sounds ridiculous as he says it. He laughs once he’s done and drags a hand across his face. “Yeah, I know - I just. Got the urge, after you explained. Had to check, you know?” 

Peter nods slowly. “Yeah… yeah, I get that.” 

They sit in silence for a bit, the TV show playing quietly in the background - something about Otto’s Grotto - and after a little while, Peter checks his phone and makes a little noise. 

“I should probably get upstairs,” he mutters, swiping something with his thumbs, and Bucky nods even though he knows Peter can’t see him. 

“Yeah, alright.” Bucky pushes himself onto his feet and wanders into the kitchen, picking up his (now empty) bottle and Peter’s cup to drop off in the sink. “I’ll walk you out - I need to head to the store for some stuff, anyways.” 

“Okay, cool.” Peter gets up and grabs his bookbag, zipping it closed as he kneels to say bye to Alpine. “Uncle Ben said to tell you that you can keep the containers until next week, which is when you definitely have to come by for dinner because it’s been a month and they miss your sass.” 

Bucky can tell by the tone that Peter’s reading off Ben’s text, probably from only a minute ago. He laughs as he puts his wallet in his pocket, imagining Ben pressing each letter deliberately, one by one. “Yeah, yeah. Tell him I’ll be there.” 

“Okay!” Peter stretches out fully and whispers his last goodbye to the cat. “My Aunt May says you need to get out more,” he tells Bucky, heading for the door. 

Bucky follows him out, slips on a pair of sneakers, and closes the door in the face of Alpine’s frantic meowing. ( _Drama queen,_ he thinks fondly.) 

“What I need,” he argues, jiggling the handle to make sure it’s locked, “is more cat food for Alpine.” 

Peter rolls his eyes playfully but lets it go. “Sure, Mister -” 

“Bucky.” 

_“Mister Barnes._ See you later!” Peter waves and heads up the stairs towards his own apartment. 

Bucky smiles up after him, lifting a hand and then shoving it into his pocket. “See you later, kid.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aster:  
> me: I'm average  
> also me: reads the sentence 'hands crossed over his chest'  
> my brain: conjures an image of a corpse


	6. the questioning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for the description of cat vomit at the beginning of the chapter; ends at _"Seriously, cat_ :)
> 
> love yall!

The next morning, Bucky walks out of the shower to throw up on the floor again, and this time he can’t just reason it away. 

“Oh, gross,” he says, feeling like he sounds unnervingly like Barton as he walks into the kitchen. 

It looks recent - it has to be, considering Bucky put the food down right before he got into the shower - and almost… fresh. God, there are still chunks and everything - Alpine didn’t even digest it before it started to come back up. 

“Seriously, cat. That’s really gross.” Alpine just looks at him, very obviously not giving a shit. 

Bucky wipes a hand down his face. “I can’t deal with this in a towel,” he mumbles, sighing, and goes to get dressed. 

Usually, Bucky wouldn't bother putting on real clothes on a day like this – it's only been a day since the battle and his emotionally draining conversation with Peter - but he has a feeling whatever’s going on with Alpine is going to force him outside. 

Ugh. 

\--- 

He Googles “pet doctor near me” because he can’t remember what the word for it is, but the sheer amount of results (more than a billion! That’s more results than people in the United States!) scares him out of that route. 

Bucky sighs, rubbing a face over his hand. “This is all your fault,” he says, pointing at Alpine. They’re lying on the arm of the couch again, the smug bastard. “You. You did this, asshole.” 

Alpine licks their paw. 

He’s going to have to text Sam, isn’t he? 

God _damn_ it. 

He hates having to text Sam. The guy’s so _genuine._ He feels like even more of an asshole by comparison when he’s talking to him, it’s ridiculous. 

Bucky pulls out his phone, searching for _Sam Wilson_ in the contacts and frowning when nothing comes up. 

Then he remembers that minute and a half he left his phone unattended last week while he was at the tower and sighs, going back to his contact list. 

It’s under _america’s ass,_ because Natasha has a real fuckin’ sense of humor. 

To **america’s ass:**   
[6:12 AM]: Have you ever had a car 

He puts his phone away, not expecting an answer (because normal people don’t keep Bucky’s hours), but Sam texts back in a flurry of pings almost immediately. 

From **america’s ass:**   
[6:13 AM]: What????   
[6:13 AM]: I mean, yeah!   
[6:13 AM]: When I was, like…   
[6:13 AM]: 17 maybe??   
[6:13 AM]: But why????? 

To **america’s ass:**   
[6:13 AM]: Cat* 

From **america’s ass:**   
[6:13 AM]: OH!!!   
[6:13 AM]: I’m still very confused but okay…   
[6:14 AM]: No.   
[6:14 AM]: I have a dog though.   
[6:14 AM]: Why?? 

Bucky snorts. 

To **america’s ass:**   
[6:14 AM]: Of course you have a dog. Probably a golden retriever named America right 

From **america’s ass:**   
[6:14 AM]: …   
[6:15 AM]: His name is Spangles. 

He laughs out loud, screenshotting the conversation and opening his chat with May. 

To **May Parker:**   
[6:15 AM]: This just in Captain America is a walking stereotype 

To **america’s ass:**   
[6:15 AM]: I can’t believe you 

From **america’s ass:**   
[6:15 AM]: ANYWAY!!!   
[6:15 AM]: Why do you ask???   
[6:15 AM]: Somehow I feel like this is not just in the interest of getting to know me better. 

To **america’s ass:**   
[6:15 AM]: Why isn’t important 

From **america’s ass:**   
[6:15 AM]: WOW, okay…… 

Bucky rolls his eyes at Sam’s response as he pulls up his pants (which - shit, how long has he been sitting here with his ass out? Gross). 

Drama queen. 

To **america’s ass:**   
[6:16 AM]: Where do you go if he gets sick? 

From **america’s ass:**   
[6:16 AM]: Why should I tell you????   
[6:16 AM]: Obviously this is for some nefarious plot of yours.   
[6:16 AM]: I will NOT be an accomplice. 

To **america’s ass:**   
[6:16 AM]: SAM 

From **america’s ass:**   
[6:17 AM]: FINE.   
[6:17 AM]: You’ve convinced me.   
[6:17 AM]: I have a vet friend named Steve!!   
[6:17 AM]: He helps me out whenever Spangles needs a checkup or something. 

Vet! That’s the word. Vet… something. Not veteran. 

Bucky resolves to look it up later. 

To **america’s ass:**   
[6:17 AM]: Still not over the fact that your dog’s name is Spangles 

From **america’s ass:**   
[6:18 AM]: He works at a clinic.   
[6:18 AM]: HEY!!!   
[6:18 AM]: I’ll have you know, I didn’t even PICK that name!! 

To **america’s ass:**   
[6:18 AM]: Then who did 

From **america’s ass:**   
[6:18 AM]: The people at the adoption center!!!   
[6:19 AM]: BEFORE they even knew I wanted to adopt a dog!!!!!! 

To **america’s ass:**   
[6:19 AM]: Wow 

From **america’s ass:**   
[6:20 AM]: Anyway!!!!   
[6:20 AM]: Was there a REASON you were asking????????? 

To **america’s ass:**   
[6:21 AM]: No 

Bucky hesitates, but it’s too late, he’s already sent the text. 

God, he really needs to think before he types. 

To **america’s ass:**   
[6:22 AM]: Can you send me Steve’s information 

Sam texts him with the vet’s information, and Bucky looks up the address while his pants are still only half pulled up. 

(Sue him. He's bad at multitasking before coffee.) 

The vet - Doctor Steven Rogers, and doesn’t _that_ sound all adult like - owns his own office, according to Google Maps, and it's in DUMBO - maybe half an hour on the train, 45 minutes if he decides to walk. 

He pulls his jeans up, buttons them, and pulls on his shirt, all the while desperately hoping that he magically won't have to deal with Alpine's throw up when he walks into the kitchen. 

The throw up’s still there, of course, because fuck his life. 

Bucky sighs. “You really couldn't help me out, could you?” he says, looking to the ceiling. 

(There's nobody there, but it's fun to pretend, every once in a while. Lets him blame his problems on someone else.) 

He walks over to the coffee maker, dumps out the old filter and grounds, then replaces it with new ones. He checks the reserve, nodding in satisfaction when he finds enough water left for a pot. While it brews he cleans up Alpine’s mess, grimacing in disgust when his hand comes into contact with a little bit of regurgitated food. 

(Is he being overdramatic? Maybe. He was a POW for a month, he deserves some time to be overdramatic.) 

Finally, he's done, and he throws out the paper towels with a sigh of relief. 

Now what? 

Well, he already feels gross. May as well clean out the litter, too. 

He didn't buy this litter box, actually - one morning, a couple of days after Alpine (well, Goat at the time and, God, Bucky had forgotten he ever used to call them that) showed up, shoe boxes arrived at his door. One was a carton of something called _PrettyLitter_ , which says it changes color when the cat’s sick (not that he thought he would ever need that). The other was a litter box that fits perfectly in the corner of his kitchen (weird), with a machine-thingie that automatically sweeps the clumps into a bag for Bucky to throw out every couple of days (weirder). On top of it all was a note from Tony. 

_No, there's no surveillance. Please don't ask._

(He didn't sign it, but the backside of the card was red and gold so Bucky made an educated guess.) 

Anyway - every month or so, he has to throw at all of the litter in the box and replace it with the shipment Tony sends (still weird). This time he put it off for a couple of days, more out of laziness than anything else, but now’s as good a time as any. 

He opens the top of the litter, and - 

Holy shit. 

The litter’s green. 

God… damn it. 

“You motherfucker,” Bucky tells Alpine. “Now I really need to take you to the vet.” 

He grabs his coffee cup and sets it on the counter, grabbing the pot to fill his mug. He’s gonna fuckin’ need it. 


	7. the phone calling

Bucky waits a day to call the vet, partially because he’s nervous, partially because procrastination may as well be his middle name. 

That night, of course, he finds a fucking growth on Alpine’s ass. 

Bucky almost thinks he’s hallucinating, at first - he happens to catch a glimpse as Alpine’s walking into the kitchen, and he almost does a spit-take when he sees the golf-ball sized growth right underneath Alpine’s tail. 

He’s not sure what the hell it is - is it a tumor? Cancer? Can cats get cancer? Probably not, but Alpine would be the one goddamn cat in the world to get cancer. 

If this fucking cat has cancer, Jesus Christ… 

(Bucky very determinedly doesn’t think of the plants he finally threw out a week ago. 

Alpine is _not_ going to be one of those plants. Not if he can help it.) 

The next morning, Bucky decides enough is enough, tells his anxiety to shut the fuck up, and picks up his phone. 

_“This is the Howling Commando’s Veterinary Office, Du-Timothy speaking, how may I help you?”_

“Hi, um. I’d like to schedule an appointment?” Bucky’s voice is shaky, but he can’t help it - he wasn’t expecting a receptionist, or whoever this guy is. 

_“Yup, no problem. Have you and your pet seen us before?”_

“Wha- oh. No, this. Would be our first time.” Oh, god, why did he say it like that? It sounds like he’s talking about losing his - vet virginity, or something. Dear God. 

_“Alrighty,”_ Timothy responds, either not noticing or not caring enough to say something about Bucky’s weird phrasing. _“Can I get-”_

Bucky feels bad about interrupting, but he’s getting kind of nervous, and when he gets nervous he gets jumpy, and when he gets jumpy he can’t really stop his mouth from opening, and when - 

You get the point. 

“Can you - shit, sorry for interrupting you, I didn’t mean to, sorry - is there any way you could make sure I see Doctor Rogers?” 

_“Oh, um.”_ Timothy pauses, and Bucky hears the distant sound of keyboard letters clicking, probably from Timothy’s computer. _“Any… particular reason? According to the calendar, he doesn’t really have any free slots available for the next two to three weeks, sorry.”_ The guy does sound genuinely sorry, to be fair, though it’s hard to tell through the phone. 

“Oh. I got, uh, recommended him.” Why does Bucky sound like that? Why is he like that? He needs to… stop. 

_“Oh, really? By who?”_ Timothy asks absentmindedly, the sounds of keyboard typing quiet in the background. 

“Sam Wilson,” Bucky says before his brain can finish listing all of the reasons why that’s a bad idea. 

_“I - you mean - wait, Captain America?”_ Timothy’s voice is shrill by the end of his sentence, and Bucky moves the phone away from his ear with a wince. 

“Uh. Yeah, I guess.” 

Timothy inhales sharply. _“Okay hold on one second please I’m putting you on hold it’ll be just one second,”_ he says in one breath. The line clicks and soft jazzy music starts playing. 

Forty-six seconds later (Timothy’s a liar, but Bucky’s trying not to hold it against him), the jazzy music stops short and a deep voice speaks into the phone. 

_“Hello! Steve Rogers speaking. How can I help you?”_

Bucky almost jolts - he thought Timothy would be coming back on the line. 

Steve Rogers’ voice is deep, too. Somehow, Bucky hadn’t expected the smooth baritone echoing through the phone. He should have known, really - the way Sam described him, he sounds like the sort of guy who fills up a room. 

Belatedly, he realizes he hasn’t responded in far too long. “… Hi. This is the Wint- This is Barnes. Um. James Barnes.” 

_“Oh! Sam’s told me all about you - it’s so great to hear from you!”_

Bucky didn’t even know this guy existed until maybe a day ago. How does Rogers already know all about him? 

Well, obviously because Sam told Rogers about him. 

Still, though. Why? 

“… thanks? Um. I need your help.” 

_“Like - an emergency?”_ There’s a rustling noise in the back, and then a loud thunk, and then a click that sounds vaguely like the sound of a gun’s chamber being loaded. 

_Who the fuck is this dude?_

“… no. I think my cat is sick.” Alpine, with ears ringing, probably, walks up to him and curls up on his chest, purring up a racket that he can feel through his sweater. 

He thinks maybe he should be annoyed, but the pressure of the cat on him lets all of the tension flow out like an open balloon. 

_“OH.”_ Something rattles on the other end of the line. _“Oh, like - like help for your pet. Because I’m a vet. Right. Of course.”_

“ … this is the veterinarian Steve Rogers, right? Not a different Steve Rogers that’s, like a soldier or something, who Timothy somehow managed to put me through to?” Immediately after he says that, Bucky slaps a hand over his mouth, cringing. 

God, why did he say it like that? He probably came off like such an asshole, oh God, Rogers’ never going to help him now, and Alpine’s going to die with a growth on his butt and - 

Rogers is laughing. 

Huh. 

Alpine knocks their head against his chin and he absentmindedly scratches at their ears, basking in the feeling of their fur under his fingers. 

Okay, so maybe Bucky didn’t manage to fuck it all up. 

_“God, I must sound like such an idiot to you, huh?”_ Rogers is still chuckling, his voice warm with mirth. Bucky shivers a little bit. 

(What the fuck was _that?_ Bucky hasn’t shivered like that since - never. High school, maybe, the first time he heard Bella McIver’s singing. Jeez.) 

_“Sorry, sorry. Yes - this is veterinarian Steve Rogers, I’m so sorry. I can get a little jumpy sometimes. Anyway - Dumb- Timothy, sorry, Timothy said you wanted to schedule an appointment?”_

Bucky feels like maybe he should be hanging up the phone - what kind of guy can’t remember his receptionist’s name? - but something about the easy rhythm of his voice makes Bucky smile instead. 

“Yeah, if that’s alright. Just - my cat’s been acting weird lately, and I’m worried something’s wrong with them.” 

_“Okay, no problem. Do you think it’s a serious emergency? Like - convulsions, or not sleeping or eating?”_

“Oh - no, nothing like that,” Bucky says, feeling touched at the concern in Rogers’ voice. “Alpine’s acting fine, mostly. I think.” 

_“Alright, then. I’m going to transfer you back - back to Timothy, okay? He’ll set you up with an appointment.”_

Bucky smiles. “Okay, thanks. It - um. Nice talking to you.” 

He can hear the smile in Rogers’ voice when he replies. _“Nice talking to you too, James. See you soon.”_

The jazz music comes on again, but this time it lasts for two minutes and thirty-eight seconds before Timothy comes back on the line, sounding a little out of breath. _“Hello there! Sorry about that. I was on the line with somebody - doesn’t matter. Sorry. We, uh - we have an appointment available for Dr. Rogers tomorrow, does that work for you?”_

“Uh.” That’s kind of close, but Timothy had made it sound like there were no appointments, so… “What times do you have?” 

_“When are you free?”_ Timothy replies without hesitation. 

“Oh, uh. Three works, I guess?” That wasn’t meant to come out like a question, but apparently today is just not Bucky’s day. 

_“Great! Three PM tomorrow. Sounds good! Thank you so much, have a good -”_

“Wait, wait wait wait!” 

There’s a pause. _“… yes?”_

Bucky really hopes he isn’t making an ass out of himself. “Do, uh. Do you need my name or something?” 

Timothy whispers something Bucky probably wasn’t supposed to be able to hear that sounds like _"Oh my God”._ He types something, then says, _“Right, of course. Name, please?”_

“James Barnes,” Bucky says, half wishing he had said _Bucky Barnes_ instead. 

_“Um.”_ Bucky can practically hear the question marks in Timothy’s voice. _“James - okay, right. James Barnes. Alright, I’ve put you down for three PM tomorrow.”_

“Okay, thank you.” Bucky hesitates, then listens to his inner demon and decides to fuck with Timothy a little bit. “Are you going to be working tomorrow?” 

_“Yes? Yes. Definitely. Yes.”_

“Alright, well. Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow, then.” 

Timothy lets out a tiny little breath. _“Right. Yep. To-tomorrow.”_

The line clicks and Bucky lets out a long breath. 

That wasn’t too bad, then. 

Now Bucky just has to get through tomorrow. 

Alpine huffs, and Bucky lifts his head to look at them. “Yeah, I know.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notes:
> 
> yes, dum dum does sound like a twink. no, i do not remember what canon dum dum sounds like. no, i am not going to change it. no, i don't give a shit. fuck the rules.


	8. the commuting

[August 6, 2020] 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[2:01 PM] Are May and Ben working late tonight 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[2:05 PM] yeah!!!   
[2:05 PM] may’s working until 8 i think and ben’s coming home at 5!!!   
[2:05 PM] why?? 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[2:05 PM] Okay   
[2:06 PM] I’m leaving the house today so if you need to be in my apartment I’m putting the keys on top of the doorframe 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[2:06 PM] ok!!!!! tysm   
[2:06 PM] what are u leaving for??????? 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[2:07 PM] I have to take alpine to the vet 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[2:07 PM] oh no!!!!!!!! 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[2:07 PM] Yeah 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[2:08 PM] did he get worse??? 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[2:08 PM] No not really   
[2:08 PM] There’s a growth on his ass though   
[2:08 PM] And the litter was a different color 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[2:08 PM] oh NO   
[2:08 PM] keep my updated please!!!!!!   
[2:09 PM] me* 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[2:09 PM] Will do   
[2:09 PM] Let me know if you raid my fridge so I can buy groceries on the way home 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[2:09 PM] ok :)))) 

Bucky considers Alpine while he’s pulling on his shoes. “It’s probably illegal to just carry you onto the subway, huh?” 

Alpine rolls over and sticks their paws into the air. 

“Yeah, you’re right.” Bucky presses his hands to his thighs as he stands up, thinking. 

He’s pretty sure Thor left some sort of reusable shoulder bag here the last time he dropped by with a bag full of Poptarts… 

He ends up finding it in the front closet, stuck behind a bike helmet and an empty cupcake tin on the top shelf. 

Huh. 

Bucky stares at the tin. 

That would’ve come in handy a couple of weeks ago. 

He looks at the bag once he’s dragged it down. It’s hot pink. It has _TOTES ADORBES_ printed on it in giant rainbow letters. The font is… Jesus Christ, is that Comic Sans? 

It’ll have to do. 

“Alright, kid,” he says to Alpine. “I have a feeling you’re going to like this even less than I will, but I don’t actually want Tony to pay off the cops or whatever it is he does when one of us gets arrested.” 

That happens more than it probably should, Bucky thinks to himself, then shrugs. 

Hazards of the job. 

He leans forward and grabs Alpine with one hand, trying his best to transfer them gently into the bag he’s holding. Alpine flails a little but settles when Bucky makes a quiet shushing noise. 

Bucky breathes out a huge sigh of relief once Alpine’s in the bag and hooker over his shoulder. 

The worst is over with, or… something. Bucky never remembers that quote. 

It actually goes pretty alright for a while - Bucky makes it down the stairs and the two and a half blocks it takes to get to the Grand Army Plaza train station. He checks his phone maybe four times on the way there - once to make sure that he’s taking the 2 or 3 train (he is), once to make sure that he’s going to the right station (he is), once to make sure that the vet’s place is actually at 568 Leaman Place (it is), and once to make sure that he’s not missing a secret instruction that was invisible the first time (he isn’t). 

Of course, Alpine starts yowling and scratching at the inside of the tote as soon as Bucky makes it down the steps into the station. 

“Oh, good Lord,” Bucky mutters. He opens the bag and peers inside to find Alpine looking up at him, claws frozen hooked in the canvas of the bag, eyes wide as if they had just been stretching. “You’re an asshole, y’know that?” he tells the cat, who blinks slowly at him. 

Bucky closes the bag again, thinking (hoping, more like) that it was a one-time thing, and of course Alpine starts yelling again. 

“Oh… my god. Alpine, shut the fuck _up,”_ he whisper-hisses to the cat, otherwise ignoring them as he fishes out his Metrocard. 

Once he swipes through, Bucky opens the bag again and glares down at Alpine. “What is your problem?” he asks furiously. 

Alpine meows and detaches one of his paws, reaching for Bucky like he’s in the trenches or some shit. 

“You’re such a fucking whiner,” Bucky tells them, as if he’s not a sucker for doing whatever Alpine wants him to when they get all whiny. 

Bucky reaches the bottom of the stairs and leans against one of the pillars. He casts a furtive glance around him, but he doesn’t really know what he was expecting - nobody’s looking at him. _What the hell,_ he thinks, mentally shrugging, and pulls Alpine out of the bag. 

He meets a little bit of resistance, and at first he thinks Alpine’s just being a little shit, but it turns out the dumbass didn’t detach their other paw and one of their claws got stuck in the canvas. Bucky reaches his metal hand into the bag, pulling out the claw, and lifts the cat the rest of the way out. He settles Alpine on his chest with one hand, pulling the bag back onto his shoulder with the other. 

“You happy now?” he asks Alpine. That one really was rhetorical - Alpine started purring almost as soon as Bucky got his hands on them, and they haven’t stopped since. 

_Guess this is my life now,_ Bucky thinks as the train arrives. _I’m a slave to a fucking cat, huh?_

He almost feels resentful for a second, but then he remembers the way his anxiety seems to calm when he’s in an uncomfortable situation and Alpine’s nearby, and how digging his hands into Alpine’s fur always helps him fall asleep, and how Alpine’s purr can sound like a white noise machine on bad nights, and he figures that maybe it’s a symbiotic sort of relationship. 

Besides, some part of him thinks that maybe comparing Alpine to a slavemaster isn’t the best idea. 

He steps into the train and sits on the corner seat to his right, trying his best to ignore the way Alpine is clawing at his shirt as they try to get comfortable. Ignoring the ghost of his father’s voice telling him to sit up straight, Bucky slouches into his seat so that Alpine can rest their head on his shoulders without freaking out about being vertical. 

Bucky hears Alpine let out a little huff of breath and then go abruptly still, not moving except for the rise and fall of their chest and the occasional sigh. 

He dozes, too - not fully falling asleep, because he’s in public and he can barely fall asleep when he’s really trying for it, but he closes his eyes and rests, absentmindedly counting down the stops until they reach Clark Street. 

Even still, he’s almost surprised when the announcer **declares** their stop, and it’s a little bit of a fumble as he struggles to get up without letting Alpine jump to the ground. 

He manages it, keeping a firm hand on their back as he walks out of the train and up the steps. Alpine struggles a little bit as he’s walking out of the station, so Bucky stops at the corner and waits patiently while the cat gets themself oriented. 

Eventually they manage it, wrapping themself around his shoulders and digging their claws into his shirt like the world’s angriest scarf. 

He smiles fondly at nothing, reaching a hand up to scratch softly at Alpine’s ears and then dropping it to grab his phone. 

Okay, the address is still 568 Leaman place and it is… a fifteen minute walk away. 

He checks the time - 2:37 PM. Perfect; he’ll be around 10 minutes early, which is early enough to make it seem like he cares about punctuality but late enough that he doesn’t have to awkwardly sit in the waiting room pretending to play a game on his phone. 

He, of course, forgets to account for the fact that he is both gay and a supersoldier with weirdly long legs, so it takes him 7 minutes to get there. 

It’s a nondescript building, sandwiched in between a Starbucks and a sushi place with a glass front. Bucky glances between the Starbucks and the vet building. 

Both ways he’ll have to interact with someone, but… if he goes into the Starbucks first then he won’t have to deal with the looks Timothy would inevitably give him at being too early. 

Starbucks it is, then. 

Bucky walks across the street and pushes the door open, pushing the door open all the way so that it doesn’t hit Alpine as he enters. He gets in line behind a teenager on his phone and an elderly woman with a cane, trying to think of something to get that takes more than ten seconds to make and that he’ll finish before Dr. Rogers calls him in for the appointment. 

He hates that feeling - when you’ve got something that you need to throw in the trash, but somebody’s talking to you or calling you over and there’s no trash can in the immediate vicinity, so you end up just kind of awkwardly standing there with either a weirdly hot or rapidly condensating cup in your hand and nowhere to put it - 

Alpine purrs softly and Bucky realizes he’s next in line. He scans the menu one more time - can’t go wrong with a Pink Drink and a cake pop, right? 

_I’m a gay stereotype,_ Bucky realizes slowly and resists the urge to facepalm. Whatever. It’s fine. 

“Next customer, please,” the cashier calls, and Bucky steps up to the register with an odd sinking feeling in his gut. 

“Hello there, how can I help -“ and Bucky watches as the cashier ( _Scott,_ the name tag says; late 30s, white, tattoo of… is that a diagram of the anatomy of an ant? On the inside of his - their, Bucky corrects himself, because Peter told him he shouldn’t assume - wrist) glances towards Bucky’s left shoulder and then does a double take. 

“Everything okay?” Bucky asks, a little concerned. 

“I - um.” The cashier visibly shakes themself. “Yes, sorry. We, uh. Don’t normally allow cats… in here?” 

“Oh!” He forgot about Alpine for a second there. “I - um. Sorry, I didn’t -” 

“Don’t worry about it,” the cashier says, eyes still trained on Alpine. Bucky cranes his neck to the side to see Alpine’s face, but nothing’s off - they kind of look like they’re sleeping. “It’s, uh. It’s fine. What can I get for you?” 

Bucky scans the menu reflexively like he hadn’t spent far too long deciding what he wanted in line. “I’ll have a pink drink and a birthday Cake Pop please.” 

“Gotcha,” Scott says, punching something in on the register. His hand is shaking a little bit. 

Jeez, is Alpine really that scary? 

“What size do you want for the drink?” 

Ah, shit, Bucky always forgets the sizes. “Is venti bigger than grande?” he asks, shifting in place so that he can grab his wallet. 

“Yep.” Scott looks to the side briefly, as if checking to make sure, then turns back. “Yeah, venti’s bigger.” 

“Okay, then I’ll have a grande, then.” 

“Great, that’ll be eight and forty-six. Cash or card?” 

Bucky holds out his weird Avengers card. “Card, please.” 

“Oh -” Scott waves his hand briefly. “No, you can just use the - the card reader thing, it’s fine.” 

“Oh, okay.” Bucky goes through the process, signing his name after making sure that he put in the right card, and then looks up at Scott and smiles hesitantly. “All good?” 

“All good,” Scott confirms, nodding. “Have a good day!” 

Bucky smiles. “Thanks, man. You too.” 


	9. the pronoun switching

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> note: some characters express opinions throughout this chapter (and the rest of the story, but especially here) that might feel a little icky - i.e. the idea that somebody's gender identity has to match their gender expression. take care, y'all!

Bucky realizes halfway out the door that he called Scott _man_ and used the wrong pronouns in his head for half of the conversation, and immediately has to fight back the urge to turn around and apologize. 

_There’s nothing you can do about it now,_ Bucky tells himself as he walks next door. _At this point, it’d be weirder to go back than to let it lie._

“Hello sir, how can I help you?” 

Bucky looks up from the floor and clocks the security guard. _Morita,_ his tag says - East Asian, shorter than Bucky but not by much, with high arched eyebrows and a gun in his pocket. 

Shit, they - their, whatever. Goddamnit. 

Bucky remembers belatedly that Morita asked him a question. “Hi, I’m here for the - vet office? Um.” 

“The Howling Commandos?” they ask. 

Is it just Bucky, or did their smile get a little softer? 

Bucky pushes the thought away. “Yeah, yeah, that’s it,” he replies gratefully, the name having escaped him. 

“Great. That’ll be the third floor, then.” Morita drops their gaze down to the desk, writing something down in a notebook, and Bucky takes the cue for what it is. 

“Okay, thank you,” he says, and walks past Morita to get to the elevator. 

Huh. Nice guy - guard - person? 

_God, this whole not assuming thing is hard,_ Bucky thinks ruefully, pressing the button for the third floor. 

It has a little paw print on it. 

Shit, that’s adorable. 

There’s a camera in the corner that Bucky only notices because of the tiny circular mirror in front of him. For a second he has the instinct to reach behind himself and rip the camera out, maybe twist his fingers into the wiring, but - Jesus, no. No. 

The elevator dings for the third floor and Alpine’s claws dig into his shoulder right as the door opens, leaving him swatting at Alpine like an asshole while the receptionist probably looks on and laughs. 

Mercifully, the elevator doors stay open (or - actually, maybe it would’ve been better if they had closed on him. At least that way, nobody but the security guard would be able to see him fighting with his own cat), and it only takes him a couple of very long seconds to detach Alpine. 

Once he’s finally done untangling Alpine’s claws from his shirt (stubborn little asshole), Bucky covertly glances up to look around. 

The receptionist isn’t looking, thank God. 

This guy - person? This person is very obviously a guy, does Bucky really have to pretend like he doesn’t know? - is definitely not Timothy, though, which makes him almost disappointed. 

He had kind of been looking forward to meeting the guy. This person, though - well. 

Timothy had the kind of voice that made Bucky think of a small font, kind of soft and high and a little delicate. This guy had arms the size of boulders and a thick mustache, along with a soft belly and round cheeks. He looked more like Bucky than a twink, really. 

Oh, man, Timothy’s totally a twink, isn’t he? Bucky hadn’t even realized he was thinking about Timothy like that until he actually considered it. 

Yeah, he probably is. 

Bucky shakes the thought out of his head - shit, how long had he been standing there? - and walks a couple of steps until he reaches the desk. The receptionist doesn’t notice him at first, simultaneously writing notes on a pad of paper and typing something into the computer, but Bucky doesn’t want to interrupt or anything so he stands there, waiting patiently until they look up. 

It takes a minute - two minutes and twelve seconds, to be exact, which is long enough that Bucky starts to worry about being checked in late for his appointment even though realistically, he has plenty of time - for the person to notice (why don’t they have a name tag? This would be so much easier if everybody ever had a name tag) but eventually there’s a little lapse in their work and they glance up. 

“Oh!” they say, and - hey, Bucky knows that voice. “Sorry about that, didn’t see you there. How can I help?” 

“Timothy?” Bucky blurts out incredulously, immediately wishing he could take it back. Why’d he have to say it like _that?_ Jesus, he probably sounded - sounds, shit, honestly - like such an asshole - 

“Yeah - oh, my God, James Barnes?” 

“I, um - yeah, hi. You…” Bucky trails off when Timothy stands up - _Jesus_ is this guy tall. What is that, 6’3? That’s ridiculous. No man with a voice that high should be able to tower over him like that… it’s just wrong. 

(A tiny voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like Peter tells him that he’s stereotyping. Bucky makes a mental note to ask him about it later.) 

“Nice to meet you,” Bucky finishes, holding out a hand (his right, he’s not an idiot) for Timothy to shake. Timothy stands up and leans forward, shaking his hand back with a giant grin. 

“You too! My name’s Timothy - you already knew that - but you can call me Dum-Dum, everyone around here does.” 

“Okay. Call me Bucky.” 

0Dum-Dum (which - Bucky isn’t going to say anything, obviously, but what kind of a name is that?) lets his hand go and sits back down, settling into his seat with a little huff. “Bucky it is! Now, you have an appointment with Dr. Rogers at… 3 PM, yes?” 

“Yep.” Bucky looks at the clock - 2:51 PM. Nice. 

“Alright, great. You’re checked in.” Dum-Dum passes over a clipboard with some papers on it - insurance information, by the looks of it - and smiles. “Just fill out all of the information on the sheet and come back when you’re done - Dr. Rogers will be out to take you in soon.” 

Bucky nods, chances a smile that probably looks like a grimace. “Okay. Thank you.” 

He walks to the right, sits down in one of the chairs and lets Alpine slither down to his lap while he fills out the paperwork. It only takes a minute so, after a quick glance around to make sure nobody’s secretly waiting impatiently for him to get his shit together, he takes out his phone. 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[2:53 PM] Hey   
[2:53 PM] Peter 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[2:53 PM] hi mr. barnes!!! 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[2:53 PM] Hey 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[2:54 PM] what’s up?? 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[2:54 PM] I have a question 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[2:54 PM] okay!!!! 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[2:54 PM] Do I always have to “Not Assume”   
[2:54 PM] Somebody’s pronouns 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[2:54 PM] yes 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[2:54 PM] Okay   
[2:54 PM] But what if it’s really obvious 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[2:55 PM] still don’t assume 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[2:55 PM] Okay 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[2:55 PM] not just because “Not Assuming” is good   
[2:55 PM] although that is part of it   
[2:55 PM] but because some trans/nonbinary people dress and act and look a certain way but feel a totally different way   
[2:55 PM] which is the difference between expression and identity   
[2:55 PM] but also some nonbinary people in particular may look like one gender but actually be nonbinary   
[2:56 PM] so it’s always important to ask   
[2:56 PM] just to be sure 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[2:56 PM] Okay   
[2:56 PM] Thank you 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[2:56 PM] of course!!   
[2:56 PM] lmk if theres anything else 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[2:57 PM] I have another question 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[2:57 PM] yeah whats up???? 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[2:57 PM] How do I ask somebody what pronouns they use 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[2:58 PM] oh good one 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[2:58 PM] Was that sarcastic 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[2:58 PM] no   
[2:58 PM] so what i would do is   
[2:58 PM] well actually   
[2:58 PM] maybe you want to say something like “so my friend taught me that i should always ask someone’s pronouns, so what are yours?” 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[2:58 PM] Are you the friend in question 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[2:58 PM] yes!!!!!!!!! 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[2:59 PM] Okay just checking 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[2:59 PM] yeah   
[2:59 PM] just for the first couple of times   
[2:59 PM] until you get used to asking   
[2:59 PM] because then you can sort of deflect the attention a little bit if you’re nervous about it 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[2:59 PM] Okay thanks 

From **Peter Parker:**   
[2:59 PM] no problem   
[2:59 PM] good luck!!! 

To **Peter Parker:**   
[2:59 PM] Wh   
[3:00 PM] Oh   
[3:00 PM] Thank you 

Bucky looks up again, half-expecting to see Dr. Rogers lurking disappointedly over his shoulder - which is totally unrealistic, especially considering he sounded perfectly nice over the phone and also Bucky has no idea what he looks like. 

Shit, for all Bucky knows he made the same mistake with Dr. Rogers that he did with Timothy. Maybe Dr. Rogers is actually, like, 5’4” and skinny and… asthmatic, or something. 

Ha. 

Bucky briefly gets lost in the fantasy of a tiny man with a big voice smiling down at him, wrapping a fist into his hair and tugging, forcing him down onto his knees… 

Shit. 

Bucky shakes his head back and forth, rubbing a hand down his face. 

Jesus, he needs to get laid. 

Bucky focuses - nobody’s called for him, so he stands up (Alpine makes a little _merp_ sound and digs their claws into his shirt) and walks over to the receptionist’s desk. 

“Hey, Dum-Dum,” he says, leaning forward a bit to catch his - their, he _just_ talked about this, come on Bucky - attention. “Here are those forms you needed.” 

Dum-Dum grins up at him and takes the clipboard with a nod. “Thanks so much!” he says, flipping through the pages briefly before putting it to the side. “I’ll get those entered ASAP. Dr. Rogers is finishing up with another patient right now, so you can just sit down and we’ll call you over when he’s ready for you.” 

“Okay, thank you so much.” Bucky turns away to go sit back down, then remembers what he just talked about with Peter. 

Now would probably be a good time to ask, right? Because if Bucky asks later, then it’s too late, and Timo- Dum-Dum might be weirded out by the fact that Bucky waited too long to ask and refuse to answer, and. 

Yeah. He should ask now. 

Bucky pivots on one foot, turning back to Dum-Dum and taking a deep breath. “Sorry to ask this - I know this is a really awkward question, but this kid I’m friends with - not in a creepy way or anything, he’s just my neighbor - told me I shouldn’t assume, and that it’s better to ask than to make a fool of yourself because you made the wrong assumption, so.” Bucky breathes. “Um. What are your pronouns?” 

Timothy visibly melts, clapping their hands together in front of their chest as they smile widely. “Oh my goodness that was so precious!” 

Bucky feels like he should maybe be offended, but Timothy’s so genuine it’s hard to do anything but smile nervously and hope for the best. 

“Well, first of all, let me just say that I am proud of you for having the courage to ask, because I know how nerve-wracking that can be, especially with a stranger. Kudos to you! Second, I am using he/him pronouns right now, and I will let you know if that changes, thank you. What about you?” 

“I - what?” Bucky feels somehow jerked around as if the proverbial rug was swept from under his feet. 

Timothy smiles gently, his hand belatedly lowering to the table. “Your pronouns, honey?” 

“Oh. Um.” Somehow Bucky hadn’t expected that question, even though it’s probably logical. Couldn’t Timothy tell? 

Although - the more Bucky thinks about it, the more _he/him_ seems to scratch at his insides like nails against a chalkboard. “I - um -“ 

“It’s okay not to know,” Timothy interrupts softly. His eyes narrow, but not suspiciously - more like he’s just thinking. “Pronouns aren’t always easy. How about we go with they/them for now?” 

Bucky hesitates, but before he can answer, a tiny blond man sticks his head out of a door in between the desk and the waiting room and looks around. “Barnes?” he calls, scanning the room. 

“I - yeah, that’s me.” Bucky waves a little - why? Why did he do that? - and the man glances over at him, flashing him a big smile when he sees him. 

“Great. You ready?” 

“Um - yeah -” Bucky starts walking, remembering at the last moment to respond to Dum-Dum. “Yeah, that - that’s fine, yeah.” 

Dum-Dum gives him a thumbs up, smiling warmly even as his gaze drops back down to his paperwork. 

Well. That’s that, then. 

Here goes nothing.


	10. the ball finding

“Alright.” The man - shit, Dr. Rogers? Oh my God, this is Dr. Rogers - sits down in his chair, swiveling around once he’s sitting to face Bucky and Alpine. “Give me the rundown. What’s goin’ on with you guys?”

“Um.” Bucky looks down at Alpine, who has decided that the fabric of Bucky’s jeans is the perfect kneading material. “Well - Alpine threw up twice in the last two days? And I have this litter that turns a different color when something’s wrong with the cat, and it was green this morning when I changed it. And, um - they have a, a growth under their tail?” Dr. Rogers’ eyebrows shoot up, but he doesn’t say anything. “So. Yeah - I don’t really know what’s going on with them, but I figured it was better to be safe than sorry, or. Whatever, I guess.”

Oh, God, what if Alpine is dying? What if they have tail cancer or something, and it could’ve been prevented if Bucky had brought them in earlier but now it’s too late and they have to put Alpine down and it’ll be all Bucky’s fault?

Or - shit, what if it’s nothing? What if Bucky is just making a giant deal out of nothing and he wasted a day of this poor doctor’s job to find out that the growth and the throw-up and the weird litter thing is all normal cat stuff? 

Or - Jesus, what if -

“Okay. Well, first off, I want to say thank you for coming.” Dr. Rogers’ smooth voice knocks Bucky out of his spiral, and -

Wait, what?

“I know that - this is your first pet, right?”

Bucky considers the pet goldfish he had when he was eight and Lucky, who he babysits whenever Clint is out of commission (which is frighteningly often, now that he thinks about it), and decides that neither of them count. “Yeah. Alpine’s my first cat - pet, yeah.”

“Okay, so you’re coming into this quasi-parenthood with no idea of what to do, so it makes a lot of sense that you’d want to make sure he’s okay, even if maybe you’re telling yourself right not that it’s not a big deal. Even if this turns out to be nothing, I think it was still good of you to come, because it never hurts to get a check-up, right?”

Bucky softens, not even realizing how much tension he was storing in his shoulders until he released it. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

Jeez, does everyone here have a knack for validating Bucky’s anxiety?

“Okay,” Dr. Rogers says, getting up and crossing over to the counter on Bucky’s right. “Why don’t you put Alpine on the table and I’ll give him a check-up, look at that growth you mentioned?”

Bucky nods even though he knows Dr. Rogers can’t see him. “Yeah, okay,” he says belatedly, feeling like his tongue is a little stuck to his mouth.

_ Dr. Rogers has a nice butt, _ Bucky thinks, and then immediately wants to smack himself upside the head like his mom used to. 

God, could he be any more of a creep?

Bucky sets Alpine on the table, keeping a steady hand on their back in case they decide to run. They don’t seem to want to though - Alpine stretches their back and then sits calmly on the steel.

Bucky frowns at them at first - shouldn’t they be yowling at the cold? - but then he looks at the metal arm that’s keeping Alpine in place and reconsiders.

Dr. Rogers crosses over with a table of medical instruments, and Bucky starts to shy away before he can help it.

Maybe Dr. Rogers notices, maybe he doesn’t, but either way he starts talking to Alpine (who is staring at him like he’s a piece of meat) very softly.

“Alright, Alpine. So this is a stethoscope, which will help me measure your heart, okay? It might be a little cold, but it shouldn’t hurt. And this thing here helps me check your eyes, and this one is for your ears…” and on and on, until Dr. Rogers has explained every tool on his table and Bucky has found himself feeling much more relaxed.

Man, this guy is a godsend. 

Finally, Dr. Rogers moves forward to check out Alpine and he hisses, rearing back like he’s been hit.

“Yeah, sorry, he- he can be kind of an asshole, sometimes.”

Dr. Rogers just smiles, though, his eyes crinkling (that’s so  _ cute,  _ what the fuck?) as he looks up at Bucky. “No worries. It happens sometimes.” Still crouching, Dr. Rogers reaches out again - slower this time - and runs his hand down Alpine’s back, pressing as he goes. 

Bucky doesn’t really know what he’s expecting, but it certainly isn’t Alpine softening and then going limp, turning onto their side with a little  _ mrow.  _

What?

Bucky’s eyebrows furrow. He’s not even mad, just… confused really. 

“They never do that for me?” Bucky says. It’s not supposed to be a question, but his voice tilts up at the end and he doesn’t try to fight it.

“Ha, yeah,” Dr. Rogers replies absentmindedly, now gently patting Alpine’s stomach. “I’ve got some tricks up my sleeve.”

Dr. Rogers shifts, gently turning Alpine so that their tail is facing him, and then slowly lifting their tail to rest against the table. “Ah. Is this - this is the growth you were talking about?”

“Um - yeah,” Bucky confirms, his right hand drifting up so that he can chew on his nails. God, he thought he had gotten rid of that fucking habit. 

“Alright, well, um. Those are… his testicles.” Dr. Rogers doesn’t look at him as he says this, smiling briefly and grasping a - oh my God those are his  _ balls  _ \- with delicate fingers. “And they seem to be developing well, so that’s a good sign.”

Oh.

Well.

Bucky breathes very slowly and tries not to yell at himself. It’s - yeah, okay, it was something he was afraid of, but it’s better than the alternative, right? It’s okay. It’s fine. 

He makes a mental note to make sure his appointment with Laura is still for tomorrow. He’s going to have a hell of a lot to talk about. 

When Bucky comes back to himself, Steve is still checking on Alpine - now he’s looking at Alpine’s mouth, gently prodding around the teeth.

“Well,” Bucky starts, taking another deep breath. “That’s - that’s good, then. Sorry for wasting your time I guess.”

“Hmm?” Dr. Rogers doesn’t really seem to process what Bucky said at first, but when he does it’s obvious - his head jerks up, although his fingers don’t twitch where they’re sitting on Alpine’s ears, and he’s got a surprised look on his face. “What? Oh - no, no, don’t feel bad about that, you definitely didn’t waste my time. Alpine should get a check-up at least once every six months, and - where did you get him from?”

“Um. The… street? He’s, uh. He’s a stray.”

Dr. Rogers hums, face understanding. “Yeah - and he’s pretty young - maybe two months, a little more - so the likelihood of him having come from another home is pretty low. Even if it’s just for a check-up and not to assess the growth, you still did a good thing, bringing him in.”

Huh. 

Well - 

Bucky’s anxiety is suspiciously quiet. 

That’s pretty logical. 

“Yeah, okay. So - I should come back in six months?”

“Yep.” Dr. Rogers stands up with a little groan - and, jeez, he’s only just taller than Bucky when he stands up and Bucky’s sitting down, that should  _ not  _ be attractive - and lets Alpine go with one last scratch behind his ears. “Well, actually - this is your first time bringing him to the vet’s office, right?”

“Um - yeah? Yeah.” Bucky stands up too and walks the few steps to the exam table, tapping it lightly with his metal hand to get Alpine’s attention. 

The cat’s ears swivel, his head jerks up, and he looks around for a split second before his eyes land on Bucky again. Alpine gets up, letting out a full-bodied shiver, and then walks over to Bucky. He lifts himself onto his hind legs and rests his front paws on Bucky’s chest, a clear request that Bucky can’t help but accept. 

Bucky lifts Alpine onto his chest, settling the cat so that his head is resting on Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky’s cradling his butt and hind legs with one arm. He can’t help but smile fondly at Alpine when he lets out a soft purr - this cat is basically a baby with more bite. 

He looks up once Alpine is properly settled and almost jumps - he doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t Dr. Rogers staring at him with a quiet smile on his unfairly attractive face.

(Seriously. If Bucky had more of Tony’s personality, he’d threaten to sue.)

Bucky raises one eyebrow and tilts his head, more confused than anything, but that little motion seems to startle Dr. Rogers out of whatever had him staring.

“Right! Sorry. So - yeah, he just needs to get his shots, and then you guys are -”

“He needs  _ shots?” _

Dr. Rogers stares at him. “I - yes? He should get shots.”

Bucky tries (and fails, probably) to repress a shudder. This is not going to be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "haha pp" - aster


	11. the number exchanging

Alpine gets the shots.

It’s not pretty.

Someone cries.

No, Bucky does not want to talk about it.

All he will say is that Dr. Rogers was very supportive and not at all condescending to _whoever_ was crying while Alpine got his shots, and that Bucky maybe has a stupid little crush on him.

He’s cute, okay? And he has a nice voice and nice hands and a nice mouth and nice… 

Everything, really.

Anyway.

After that (quite frankly traumatic) experience, Bucky is all but ready to bolt out of there, super cute doctor and follow-up appointment be damned, but Dr. Rogers rests a hand on his shoulder and he is physically incapable of doing anything to dislodge it.

This stupid little crush thing he’s got going on is very annoying. 

“James?”

He lets out a little breath. “Yeah?” he says, turning to Dr. Rogers the tiniest bit.

Dr. Rogers’ holding a business card in his other hand. It has a string of numbers at the bottom, written out in precise black ink. 

“I just -” He pauses.

This might be the first time Bucky’s heard him stutter.

What the hell is going on?

“You’ll make the follow-up for six months, and I’ll see you then, but - just in case. Alpine’s acting weird, or you’re worried about his eating habits or how he’s growing - anything, really - I just wanted you to have. My number. Um -”

“Oh.” Bucky can’t help it - his eyes flick up to meet Dr. Rogers’ and the blush that’s spread across the man’s cheeks makes his knees feel a little weak. “Thank you so much,” he says, smiling quietly as he turns the rest of the way and grabs the card. Their fingers brush as he takes it and Bucky swears he can feel electricity race down his spine.

 _Sap,_ Bucky thinks, rolling his eyes fondly at himself (in his mind, of course, because he’s not actually crazy).

“Of course. Don’t hesitate - text me if you, uh. Need anything, okay?” When Bucky looks at him again, his smile is a little bashful and his eyes are crinkling into little crescents.

Fuck, this guy is beautiful. Bucky might actually be dying.

“Okay,” Bucky responds, voice nearly a whisper. Dr. Rogers’ smile widens.

“Okay,” he says, and Bucky feels like that’s a book thing but he doesn’t remember what book it was and he doesn’t care enough to try.

Dr. Rogers finally lets go of the business card - shit, how long were they standing there like idiots, staring soulfully into each others’ eyes while holding on two a fucking business card? - and walks away, pausing before he turns a corner and lifting his hand in a dorky little wave. He smiles, a quick little flash, before he disappears behind the wall.

Bucky realizes after maybe five seconds that he has the lingering sensation of a dopey smile on his face.

From **Peter Parker:** **  
** [3:16 PM] hi mr. barnes!!! i’m stopping by your apartment probably until may or ben get home

From **Peter Parker:** **  
** [3:34 PM] hi mr. barnes!!!! i’m still at your apartment (it feels weird without alpine here!!!)  
[3:34 PM] hope the appointment went well!!!!!! 

From **Peter Parker:** **  
** [3:49 PM] hi mr. barnes!!!!! i’m still at your apartment  
[3:49 PM] uncle ben texted me  
[3:49 PM] he’s getting home at like 630  
[3:49 PM] so if you get home before then i’ll be here probably

To **Peter Parker:** **  
** [4:13 PM] Hey

From **Peter Parker:** **  
** [4:16 PM] hi!!!  
[4:16 PM] how did the appointment go??????

To **Peter Parker:** **  
** [4:17 PM] It was fine  
[4:17 PM] The growth was his testicles

From **Peter Parker:** **  
** [4:17 PM] did they figure out what the growth was?????  
[4:17 PM] oh

To **Peter Parker:** **  
** [4:17 PM] Yeah

From **Peter Parker:** **  
** [4:18 PM] oh my god

To **Peter Parker:** **  
** [4:18 PM] Yep

From **Peter Parker:** **  
** [4:18 PM] im so sorry that’s fucking HYSTERICAL?????????

Bucky smiles down at his phone as he steps out onto the street, Alpine purring contentedly on his shoulder.

To **Peter Parker:** **  
** [4:18 PM] Yeah  
[4:18 PM] It wasn’t funny when it happened but now I’m laughing

From **Peter Parker:** **  
** [4:18 PM] im skjdghbufoasljndh  
[4:19 PM] and we BOTH looked at them and DIDNT THINK MAYBE… THEY WERE GOING THRU PUBERTY

To **Peter Parker:** **  
** [4:19 PM] Haha yeah

From **Peter Parker:** **  
** [4:19 PM] lollllll  
[4:19 PM] i’m just glad they’re okay though

To **Peter Parker:** **  
** [4:20 PM] Yeah me too  
[4:20 PM] I’m on my way home

From **Peter Parker:** **  
** [4:20 PM] ok!!!! see you soon

To **Peter Parker:** **  
** [4:20 PM] See you

When Bucky gets home, Alpine jumps off of his shoulder as soon as the door swings open.

Bucky snorts. _Impatient motherfucker._

He’s not quite sure where Alpine’s going, but from the excited _“ALPINE!”_ that echoes through the apartment, he thinks he might have an idea. 

“Hey, kid,” he calls out to the living room, where Peter is sitting cross-legged on the couch. There’s a TV show that Bucky doesn’t recognize on the screen and Alpine is in Peter’s lap, contentedly receiving belly rubs as if he wasn’t yowling an hour ago over getting a rabies shot.

“Hi Mr. Barnes!!!” Bucky can hear the exclamation points in his voice, and he smiles to himself as he reaches down and unties his shoes, slipping them off and standing up straight again with a sigh. “Alpine looks happy.”

“Yeah, he’s glad to be home, I’m sure. Dr. Rogers poked at him quite a bit.” Bucky crosses into the kitchen and pours himself a cup of water, glancing side-eyed at the food station. 

Alpine doesn’t have any food in his bowl (obviously - what did Bucky think, that the tooth fairy was going to pop by while Bucky was out and magically refill Alpine’s bowl? Why the hell would she do that? That’s not even her jurisdiction? Okay, Bucky is getting way off track here), so Bucky reaches up into the cabinet that holds his food and pours out a meal’s worth of vaguely unappealing pellets.

They look kind of like hellish Goldfish, if Bucky doesn’t think about it too much.

“Yeah? Alpine’s a boy, for sure?” 

Bucky walks back into the living room and sits on the floor, leaning against the wall with a deep sigh. (What’s with the sighs today? Seriously, he’s singlehandedly feeding the trees around here.)

“Yep,” he confirms, chuckling into his glass. “At least according to Dr. Rogers.”

“Was he nice?”

“Hmm? Oh, Dr. Rogers? Yeah, he was a real sweetheart. Reassured me and everything, he was great. Hey, did you know cats need _shots?_ They can get shit like Feline HIV, or leukemia, or - shit, Alpine even got a rabies shot, and that one’s pretty common - or at least I feel like I hear about it a lot - and I didn’t even think about it. Dr. Rogers told me that was pretty reasonable, though, especially considering this is my first pet and all. He said it was actually pretty good of me to come in, because Alpine’s supposed to get a check-up every six months. God, Dr. Rogers’ pretty smart, huh?”

Peter doesn’t respond right away, and when Bucky finally looks up Peter’s looking at him with his mouth wide open like a fish. 

(Why do fish have their mouths open all the time, anyway? Bucky makes a note to look it up later.)

“What?” Bucky frowns, suddenly feeling weirdly self-conscious. 

“No, no, it’s just -” Peter very obviously shuts his mouth. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk so much at once, except for that one time a couple of days ago, and that was, like, a really serious conversation, y’know? Not - it’s not bad, or anything, just. I was surprised, is all.”

Bucky hums, leaning back against the wall. “Yeah. I’m, uh. Pretty quiet.”

Peter smiles. “Yeah. You liked Dr. Rogers, though? He seems like a good guy.”

Bucky grins, wide and bright, before he can think twice about it. “Oh, yeah, Dr. Rogers is great. He’s so smart - god, he’s got all these weird instruments that help him examine the cat, and he explained all of them to me - and, ah jeez, he’s really cute, y’know? Not in a creepy way or anything, just, he’s got these nice little dimples that come out whenever he smiles - which he did, a lot, ‘cause I think he’s just kind of a smiley guy, and…”

Bucky keeps on rambling, waving his hands around like a goof while he explains why his trip to the vet’s office was so great and how he ended up with Dr. Rogers’ number. He’s so wrapped up in it, he almost doesn’t notice how Peter takes out his phone, glancing up every couple of moments and nodding to show that he’s paying attention but typing furiously, probably texting somebody.

As it is, he notices, of course. He lets it slide. 


	12. the beginning

[August 10, 2020]

Bucky ends up waiting almost a week to text Dr. Rogers.

Now, this is not to say that he forgets about texting him, or that there’s nothing to text him about. Dr. Rogers’ stupid smile and his stupid hair and his stupid mouth (god, that _mouth)_ are almost always on Bucky’s mind, and Alpine is weird enough for Bucky to have a laundry list of things to talk about.

He’s just a pitiful ball of anxiety, really.

After about a week of staring at the business card where it lays on his kitchen counter (and really, it’s something of a miracle that Alpine hasn’t accidentally knocked it into the trash or something) he tells himself to man the fuck up (and, yes in-brain Peter, he understands the inherent misogyny in telling himself to be more masculine in order to achieve something he’s scared of, but sometimes that’s the only kick that works to get himself off his ass) and types that number into his phone

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:26 AM] Hi

A part of him wants to leave it at that - he even goes so far as to turn off his phone and stick it in his pocket - but then he remembers that there’s no way for Dr. Rogers to know who the fuck is texting. The next few seconds are a mad scramble to dig his phone back out (since when are his pockets so fucking deep?) and unlock it (why didn’t he ever install the fingerprint scanner?) so that he can text something more coherent.

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:27 AM] This is Bucky  
[10:27 AM] James Barnes I mean  
[10:27 AM] I saw you for an appointment last week

Good Lord, he sounds like an idiot. Dr. Rogers is going to see this text and fucking _block_ him, Bucky swears -

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:28 AM] Hello!   
[10:28 AM] I remember you!

Oh. 

Bucky didn’t really think he would text back right away.

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:28 AM] Bucky? You were on the chart as James.

Oh, shit, Bucky didn’t even tell him what name he goes by? God, he feels like such an asshole.

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:28 AM] Sorry  
[10:28 AM] It’s a nickname

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:28 AM] No need to apologize!  
[10:29 AM] Would you rather me call you Bucky?

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:29 AM] Um  
[10:29 AM] If you don’t mind  
[10:29 AM] Yeah

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:29 AM] Okay, no problem!

Jesus, this guy is ridiculously nice.

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:30 AM] Thanks

Bucky looks up when he feels the swirl of Alpine’s fur against his bare ankles, and realizes that he’s standing half-naked in his kitchen for no reason. It’s cold in here, for some godforsaken reason - it’s August, shouldn’t it be sweltering?

He turns around. 

The freezer is open. 

Oh, right. He was getting ice for his water. Well, that explains it. 

He sticks his phone back in his pocket (it’ll buzz, he thinks, quickly flicking to his Settings just to make sure) and grabs the ice, closing the freezer door firmly once he’s done and walking over to the couch.

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:33 AM] Was there a reason in particular that you texted me?

Oh Jesus Christ. Bucky feels his breathing pick up - this poor guy, having to respond to an idiot with no sense of time and seemingly no reason for texting.

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:34 AM] Oh yeah  
[10:34 AM] Sorry

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:34 AM] No worries, just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget. :)

Oh. Right.

_No worries._

Bucky takes a deep breath, blows it out. Calms himself down.

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:35 AM] Yeah

Bucky remembers belatedly that he has to give Dr. Rogers a reason why he’s texting and frantically looks through his Notes app for the one he started the day after the appointment.

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:36 AM] Um so whenever Alpine takes a nap he gets crust around his eyes like humans do

Bucky blows out a sigh of relief.

Nailed it.

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:36 AM] Yep, that’s normal!

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:36 AM] Yeah  
[10:36 AM] But sometimes he’ll lay in my lap a while after he’s taken a nap and he still has the crusts around his eyes  
[10:36 AM] And I get worried that they’re irritating him  
[10:37 AM] Should I try to wipe the crust off when I’m petting him  
[10:37 AM] ?

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:37 AM] Oh! That’s a very reasonable worry.  
[10:37 AM] Nope, he’s perfectly fine! Even if it doesn’t happen immediately, Alpine will eventually wipe the crust off of his face by himself, just like we do.   
[10:38 AM] You can wipe it off for him if you’d like, but really there’s no need.

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:38 AM] Oh okay  
[10:38 AM] Thanks Dr. Rogers

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:38 AM] Of course! Happy to help.  
[10:39 AM] And - please, call me Steve!

What?

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:39 AM] Oh  
[10:39 AM] Are you sure?

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:39 AM] Definitely.

Bucky mouths out his name. 

_Steve._

It feels good.

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:40 AM] To be honest, feels a little weird to be getting a text that says Dr. Rogers in it.

Bucky laughs, belatedly realizing that he’s been holding his cup in his hand for too long and it’s starting to condensate. He takes a long drink, sighing contentedly at the feeling of coolness expanding in his chest, and then sets it to his side.

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:41 AM] Haha yeah I get that  
[10:41 AM] Sometimes my old boss texts me and he always calls me “Sergeant Barnes”  
[10:41 AM] Still feels weird

He frowns at his right thumb, then leans over to the table and digs around in one of the drawers for that Stark glove.

It takes a minute, but he finds it and slides it onto his left hand.

At least now he has two thumbs to work with.

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:41 AM] Oh, were you in the army?

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:42 AM] Yeah for a couple of years

Bucky quietly hopes that Steve doesn’t ask, mostly because he knows he won’t be able to say no to any questions Steve has and Bucky doesn’t really feel like rehashing it.

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:42 AM] What do you do now?

Bucky breathes out a quiet sigh of relief, and then a loud snort of laughter when he realizes what it is Steve actually said.

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:42 AM] Wait, nevermind… 

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:42 AM] LOL  
[10:42 AM] Yeah I guess it’s pretty obvious  
[10:42 AM] I have a lot of free time though

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:43 AM] Hobbies?

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:43 AM] I guess  
[10:43 AM] I like to go to the range  
[10:43 AM] Take care of Alpine  
[10:43 AM] Cook

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:43 AM] Oooh, are you good?

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:43 AM] At cooking?  
[10:43 AM] I’d like to think so  
[10:44 AM] I can follow a recipe pretty well I guess

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:44 AM] That’s more than I can do, so.

Bucky snorts out a laugh.

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:44 AM] LOL  
[10:45 AM] It does take a certain… je ne sais pas… to be able to read a recipe AND follow the instructions

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:45 AM] Oh, do you know French?

Bucky grins down at his phone, for some reason hopelessly fond of this silly, genuine veterinarian.

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:45 AM] Eh, not very well  
[10:45 AM] I knew enough to get by when I was there but I lost it once I was back in the States

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:46 AM] Ohhh, makes sense.

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:46 AM] What about you

He hesitates for a second before sending - what if Steve had only asked to be polite? - but he reminds himself that it never hurt anybody to ask questions (which - wow, that’s total bullshit, but it’s helping to calm him down, so he’ll take it) and presses send.

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:46 AM] Know any other languages?

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:47 AM] Oh, yeah. I actually majored in linguistics before I went to med school, so I know five!

Bucky’s mouth dropped open. Sure, he knew Romanian because of his grandmother, and he used to know enough Farsi to get by, but shit five languages was a lot to learn.

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:47 AM] Holy shit  
[10:47 AM] I didn’t even know that was possible

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:47 AM] What, knowing five languages?  
[10:48 AM] I’m sure I’m not the only person you’ve met that’s a polyglot.

Bucky is not at all ashamed of the fact that he has to look up what a polyglot is.

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:49 AM] Well yeah that’s pretty incredible  
[10:49 AM] I meant the linguistics thing though  
[10:49 AM] Don’t you have to major in something sciencey to go to medical school?

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:49 AM] Haha, thanks.   
[10:49 AM] And no! Med schools actually like seeing that you’re interested in different stuff.  
[10:49 AM] Or so I’m told.  
[10:50 AM] I doubled in Linguistics and Biology, so I wouldn’t actually know.

Jesus Christ, this guy is smart.

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:50 AM] Wow  
[10:50 AM] That’s really cool

From **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:50 AM] Thank you!  
[10:51 AM] Listen, I have to get back to work now - I’ve got a patient in a few minutes, but…   
[10:51 AM] Maybe I’ll talk to you later?

Bucky resists the urge to press his hands against the smile blooming on his face

To **Dr. Steve Rogers:**  
[10:51 AM] Yeah, definitely  
[10:52 AM] Talk later


	13. coda: the dating

[August 26, 2020]

To **Stevie:**  
[3:36 PM] Hey Steve

From **Stevie:**  
[3:46 PM] Hey, Bucky!!  
[3:46 PM] How are you?

To **Stevie:**  
[3:48 PM] I’m good  
[3:48 PM] Alpine and Peter say hi

From **Stevie:**  
[3:48 PM] Tell them I say hi back!  
[3:49 PM] Did Peter finish his Spanish project?

To **Stevie:**  
[3:49 PM] He says yes and thank you for helping  
[3:50 PM] Why don’t you two have each others’ numbers

From **Stevie:**  
[3:50 PM] Huh.  
[3:50 PM] I don’t know!  
[3:50 PM] I’ll get it the next time I see him, no rush.

To **Stevie:**  
[3:50 PM] Okay cool

To **Stevie:**  
[3:58 PM] Hey Steve  
[3:58 PM] I have a question

From **Stevie:**  
[3:59 PM] Hey!  
[3:59 PM] Okay, what’s up?

To **Stevie:**  
 ~~Do you~~  
 ~~Would you maybe~~  
 ~~Could I~~  
[4:02 PM] Sorry

From **Stevie:**  
[4:02 PM] Take your time, Bucky. No rush, I promise.

To **Stevie:**  
[4:02 PM] Okay thanks

To **Stevie:**  
[4:05 PM] Do you want to go out for dinner sometime?

From **Stevie:**  
[4:05 PM] Like  
[4:06 PM] Like a date?

To **Stevie:**  
[4:06 PM] Um  
[4:06 PM] Yeah  
[4:07 PM] Unless you don’t want it to be in which case no just as friends

From **Stevie:**  
[4:07 PM] No, I want  
[4:07 PM] Very much.

To **Stevie:**  
[4:07 PM] So yes?

From **Stevie:**  
[4:07 PM] Yes. Definitely. I. Yes.

To **Stevie:**  
[4:07 PM] Okay  
[4:07 PM] Great  
[4:07 PM] :)  
[4:08 PM] This Friday?  
[4:08 PM] If you’re free

From **Stevie:**  
[4:08 PM] If I wasn’t before, I am now.

To **Stevie:**  
[4:08 PM] Haha :)  
[4:08 PM] Okay  
[4:09 PM] Does 7 work for you

From **Stevie:**  
[4:09 PM] Yep!

To **Stevie:**  
[4:09 PM] That was too quick a response for you to have checked your schedule

From **Stevie:**  
[4:09 PM] You don’t know that.

To **Stevie:**  
[4:10 PM] You keep it on your desk in your study when you’re at home  
[4:10 PM] Sorry that was weird

From **Stevie:**  
[4:10 PM] No, it wasn’t.  
[4:10 PM] I really like that you know things about me.

To **Stevie:**  
[4:10 PM] Oh  
[4:11 PM] Okay  
[4:11 PM] That’s good because I never want to stop learning things about you

From **Stevie:**  
[4:11 PM] I.  
[4:11 PM] Me too.  
[4:12 PM] Okay, so. Friday at 8?

To **Stevie:**  
[4:12 PM] Yep  
[4:12 PM] Can’t wait :)

From **Stevie:**  
[4:12 PM] Me neither.

To **Peggy Carter:**  
[4:06 PM] PEGGY

From **Peggy Carter:**  
[4:11 PM] Yes, darling?

To **Peggy Carter:**  
[4:12 PM] HE ASKED ME OUT. ON. A DATE. OH GOD.

From **Peggy Carter:**  
[4:12 PM] Oh, good!  
[4:12 PM] This is good, right?

To **Peggy Carter:**  
[4:12 PM] YES.  
[4:13 PM] IT’S IN TWO DAYS.  
[4:13 PM] I HAVE SO MUCH TO DO. WHAT DO I DO. 

From **Peggy Carter:**  
[4:13 PM] Steve, it’s a first date, not a wedding. What could you possibly have to do?

To **Peggy Carter:**  
[4:13 PM] BLEACH MY ASSHOLE  
[4:13 PM] GET A HAIRCUT  
[4:13 PM] BUY A NEW WARDROBE  
[4:14 PM] BUY A NEW EYESHADOW PALETTE  
[4:14 PM] SHAVE MY PUBES  
[4:14 PM] BUY OUT LUSH PROBABLY

From **Peggy Carter:**  
[4:14 PM] Steve. You do not have to bleach your arsehole.

To **Peggy Carter:**  
[4:15 PM] IT NEVER HURTS TO BE PREPARED!!!!!!!!!!!!

From **Peggy Carter:**  
[4:15 PM] Steve, do you want this to last?

To **Peggy Carter:**  
[4:15 PM] WHAT?  
[4:15 PM] What?

From **Peggy Carter:**  
[4:15 PM] This relationship, with Bucky. Do you want it to last?

To **Peggy Carter:**  
[4:15 PM] Yeah, of course.

From **Peggy Carter:**  
[4:16 PM] Then don’t put out on the first date. Don’t bleach your arsehole, and, for the love of God, don’t text me about how big his cock is, because I do not want to know, and you shouldn’t have that information until at _least_ the third date.

To **Peggy Carter:**  
[4:16 PM] Oh.  
[4:16 PM] Yeah, okay.

To **america’s ass:**  
[4:13 PM] Sam

From **america’s ass:**  
[4:20 PM] Hi!!!

To **america’s ass:**  
[4:20 PM] I need help

From **america’s ass:**  
[4:20 PM] I’ll be there in ten!!!!

To **america’s ass:**  
[4:20 PM] NO  
[4:21 PM] Not that kind of help

From **america’s ass:**  
[4:21 PM] Oh… okay!!  
[4:21 PM] Are you okay????

To **america’s ass:**  
[4:21 PM] Yes  
[4:22 PM] No  
[4:22 PM] I asked Steve on a date

From **america’s ass:**  
[4:22 PM] OMGGGGG  
[4:22 PM] Did he say yes????  
[4:22 PM] Nevermind, of course he did!!!!

To **america’s ass:**  
[4:22 PM] Yeah he did  
[4:23 PM] We’re going out on Friday

From **america’s ass:**  
[4:23 PM] Oh, but  
[4:23 PM] Wait.  
[4:24 PM] Nevermind!!!!!!

To **america’s ass:**  
[4:24 PM] What

From **america’s ass:**  
[4:24 PM] No, don’t worry about it!!!  
[4:24 PM] I thought we had plans this Friday but I was wrong!!!!

To **america’s ass:**  
[4:24 PM] Oh  
[4:24 PM] Okay cool

From **america’s ass:**  
[4:25 PM] ANYWAY!!!  
[4:25 PM] What do you need help with?????????

To **america’s ass:**  
[4:25 PM] Where do I take him  
[4:25 PM] What do I wear  
[4:25 PM] Should I bleach my asshole  
[4:25 PM] Do I need a haircut

From **america’s ass:**  
[4:25 PM] Oh… my god.  
[4:26 PM] I’ll be there in half an hour.

To **america’s ass:**  
[4:26 PM] Okay thank you

[August 28, 2020]

To **Peggy Carter:** **  
**[7:18 PM] PEGGY.

From **Peggy Carter:** **  
**[7:18 PM] Aren’t you on your date with Bucky right now?

To **Peggy Carter:** **  
**[7:18 PM] Yes I’m in the bathroom, that’s besides the point.  
[7:18 PM] PEGGY HE’S SO FUCKING CUTE!!!!!!

From **Peggy Carter:** **  
**[7:18 PM] Is he? Where are you two?

To **Peggy Carter:** **  
**[7:19 PM] WE’RE AT THIS CUTE VINTAGE DINER AND AFTER THIS WE’RE GOING TO GO FOR A WALK IN THE PARK AND HE’S SO CUTE I MIGHT DIE!  
[7:19 PM] HE’S WEARING A HENLEY. HIS SHOULDERS. PEGGY HIS SHOULDERS.  
[7:19 PM] HIS HAIR IS BRAIDED.  
[7:19 PM] HE’S SO TALL . WHY IS HE SO TALL. OH GOD.

From **Peggy Carter:** **  
**[7:19 PM] Well, it sounds like it’s going well?

To **Peggy Carter:** **  
**[7:19 PM] It is, oh my God it is, he’s amazing.

From **Peggy Carter:** **  
**[7:20 PM] You should… probably get back to it then, it’s been a couple of minutes.

To **Peggy Carter:** **  
**[7:20 PM] Oh, shit.  
[7:20 PM] You’re right.  
[7:20 PM] I’ll text you later LOVE YOU THANKS FOR LISTENING TO ME!!!!

From **Peggy Carter:** **  
**[7:21 PM] Of course, darling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... and that's it, kids! i sincerely hope you enjoyed. there WILL be more coming up (when i don't know, but soon, hopefully) so subscribe to the series!

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: Bucky as a modern Winter Soldier working with the Avengers, lead by Captain America Sam Wilson. Bucky is reclusive, lives alone with his cat Alpine. When Alpine gets sick, Sam sends Bucky to see his veterinarian friend, Steve.
> 
> i think i got it? let me know. LOL
> 
> come check out my [tumblr!](https://partlycharlie.tumblr.com) i always welcome new friends.


End file.
